Singularity
by It's The Krys
Summary: A collection of prompt-based writings, all collapsed into a single super-dense mass. Focuses mainly on Zim and Dib, with a variety of genres. Constructive criticism and other such feedbacks are greatly appreciated.
1. Rot

To celebrate how much my hands hurt after finishing the epilogue/prologue for Fall to Ruin and its sequel, I started writing some MORE! I'm so clever! 8D

Theme challenges, from somewhere I don't even remember, and not from any particular list - I think I actually smushed like seven or eight of the things together, so...yeah. There's going to be a lot of these things. Provided I write them all. You know.

I'll try to leave a big, fat warning at the beginning of prompts containing more questionable stuff. Or ZADR, but I will, of course, be sticking mainly to enmity or amity, as it's more amusing that way.

* * *

**ROT**

He found the Irken on the roof of the skool again, a far off look in his eyes as he stared at the cityscape that stretched before him. For once, when he casually joined him, Zim said nothing; normally he would have snapped at Dib for being so bold, shooing him away with banshee-like shrieks and flailing fists.

Although somewhat curious as to what had brought about the alien's current mood, the boy kept quiet, only dangled his feet over the edge, kicking them lightly until Zim shot a quick glance to him that told him that if he'd like to keep his legs, he'd better knock it off. Then, after nearly a full ten minutes of silence between them, something that had never happened before, Zim spoke.

"Has Zim ever told you just how horrible this planet is?"

"Yeah. You tell me that all the time," Dib reminded him, brow furrowing somewhat.

The Irken pursed his lips, and bowed his head a bit, staring intently at his lap. "...Oh. ...Yes. I quite forgot."

Forgot? Dib turned to examine his enemy quizzically, remaining just as quiet as he'd been for the past ten minutes, before he simply shook his head and turned back to gaze out over the city. After another length of silence – they were both late for third period, but he didn't particularly care, and he knew Zim wouldn't either – the curiosity finally got to him and he stated casually, "You know, this has to be the first time you've let me sit up here with you."

Zim peered up at him, confusion evident. "Why shouldn't I let you?"

"Because I'm a smelly human?" Dib replied, mostly as a joke. The Irken hardly seemed amused, of course, but the confusion remained as well, which had the paranormalist faltering. Suddenly, words he never thought he'd utter to this particular person escaped him. "Is something wrong, Zim?"

"No." Zim shook his head, the distant look creeping back as he averted his gaze, looking over the city once more. "I don't think so," he added as an afterthought, almost uncertainly; his gloved fingers interlaced, separated, fidgeted, before interlacing again, and now the Irken was staring at his hands silently, as though he'd never seen them before.

Glancing from the alien's hands to his face, the foreign features drawn tight but otherwise unreadable, Dib couldn't help but think that the words weren't entirely true. He kept quiet, though, and on impulse, carefully – almost comfortingly – rested a hand on Zim's shoulder.

He wasn't brushed away.

"...I told you how horrible your planet is, right...?"

* * *

Tried something a little different from what I originally intended. It was going to be about humans, but...ehh. ((shrug))


	2. Break

Obvious theme is obvious.

* * *

**BREAK**

For once, the Irken hadn't meant to do it. Granted, there were a lot of times where he didn't mean to do things – some destructive moments he hadn't intended. But this time involved the Dib, and he generally meant to do horrible things to that particular human.

However, in this specific case, it was one of those brief points of armistice between them; some deranged human had taken President Man hostage or some similar nonsense, and according to the Dib-human, he'd said something about a 'new world order'. That, of course, was an outrage, plain and simple! There would be no new world order unless it was brought about by ZIM'S amazing self!

Thus, Zim had grudgingly agreed to assist his human nemesis in freeing the horrible President creature, completely unaware that Dib was more or less taking advantage of his gullibility in order to gain the adoration of the general public; after all, if they thought him a hero, they might be a little more receptive to his claims of Zim being an alien bent on global domination. Also, Dib just got a generally bad vibe from the terrorist, and had a feeling he might be a vampire. So, either way, it would be a win for Dib!

At least, that's what he'd thought when his alien rival had (albeit reluctantly) allowed him into the depths of his lab to plot the terrorist's downfall. It was what he'd thought when Zim failed to search him for cameras or voice recorders and other such similar spying doodads. And it was what he'd thought ten seconds before he remembered just how bad Zim could be at building things, and the thing that Zim was building promptly exploded for no particular reason.

From the pile of rubble he'd landed in, miraculously left mostly unscathed, Dib cursed his luck (or lack thereof). He could already tell that his spying gear had been mangled in the rough landing, but he couldn't take any of it out to examine the extent of the damage. It wasn't just because it would tip Zim off to part of his scheme; he'd lost his glasses in the blast.

Just as he dropped hands and knees to the floor, patting around in the hopes that he might be able to find them, he heard the Irken stumble about somewhere nearby, grumbling what seemed to be curses in his native tongue This wouldn't have interested him at all if he hadn't also heard a quiet crunch, followed by Zim stating hesitantly, "Uh...I found your glasses..."

* * *

Bet you didn't see that coming. ((seriousface))


	3. Storm

Tried to be a little less obvious here, in some ways. Still horribly obvious, because I am horribly uncreative.

* * *

**STORM**

The Voot Cruiser came screaming out of the thick clouds, Zim near-frantic at the controls; everything was malfunctioning, _everything_! Behind his vessel came another, gaining ground with every passing second; Tak's ship, but with a decidedly different enemy at the helm.

"Giving up already, Zim?" The human's voice oozed smugness, and Zim snarled a few choice words, none of which Dib could understand given the language they'd been in, before a gloved fist slammed on the 'end transmission' button. He couldn't afford distractions now, not with the strong winds threatening to drag his ship back down into the maelstrom, not with the crackles of lightning zigzagging every which way to send the Voot's programming into madness!

He squealed – actually _squealed_ – in shock when sparks erupted from one panel, sending the Cruiser veering sharply to the right before it spiraled downward into a nosedive, despite Zim's many valiant efforts to right the ship via a series of frenzied yanks and tugs on the steering levers. The hailing beacon lit up, but went unnoticed in the chaos until the Irken inadvertently hit it with his elbow, having been attempting to restart the thrusters by kicking their corresponding panel.

Dib's face flickered onscreen as the connection was established, though it was overlooked by both pilots. Flying alongside the debilitated craft as it careened downward was the Spittle Runner, the boy inside motioning something desperately to Zim, who shrieked something nearly unintelligible back at him which wouldn't have been conveyed had the hail not been unwittingly accepted.

Then, suddenly, the Voot Cruiser was righted, thick cords latching it securely to the other vessel as Dib maneuvered them through the swirling gases; he couldn't help but direct a quick smirk at the dejected Irken, who only scoffed and averted his eyes to glare out his ship's covershield as they broke the cloud cover. Zim wasn't going to acknowledge that he'd lost this challenge fair and square, and Dib knew it; and knew, too, exactly what Zim was thinking right now.

How had the great red spot looked so deceivingly harmless from orbit?

* * *

Obvious, more or less, I think. Yes? No?


	4. Cut

This one ended up weird. I don't know what happened, but I like it.

* * *

**CUT**

"OW!" Dib jerked back in shock at the sudden exclamation, eyes wide behind thick frames as he peered up at the disguised alien, who was now clutching one hand protectively against his chest. "Stupid stinkbeast, watch what you're doing!" Zim snapped angrily, glaring from the human to the small wound on one claw-like finger; he'd have to fix that glove now, what a pain!

Scissors dropped onto the desk to join the large sheet of thin fabric the Irken had been holding. "Sorry," Dib offered almost automatically. Then, annoyed with himself at letting an apology slip, he added interestedly, "Are you bleeding?" He leaned forward, in the hopes of catching a glimpse of the injury.

Zim scowled, tugging the glove off to better examine the damage, before grumbling in response, "Yes, no thanks to _you_. Stupid clumsy Dib-pig." He jumped a bit, startled, when the teen pulled his hand towards him to have a look as well, but recovered quickly, yanking away and throwing a sharp glare at him. It was a look that clearly said 'Touch me again and I'll make you regret it'.

"It's pink."

"Ehn?"

Dib grinned at him, a look that had a slight shiver coursing down the Irken's spine. "Your blood. Clearish pink – I wasn't really expecting that."

A scoff escaped Zim, and he looked away quickly, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. "Yes. Well, don't expect to see it again." Ignoring his rival's thoughtful hum, the Irken wiped away the traces of liquid that had escaped the wound, pleased to see that it had already healed; it really helped to be part of an amazingly advanced race sometimes. "Now, let us finish this mind-numbing project so that Zim doesn't have to sit around and look at your fat head anymore."

With a consenting nod, not even feeling particularly miffed about the jibe, Dib reclaimed the scissors, glancing over the sharp edges as Zim struggled with the fabric sheet – a horridly stubborn thing that refused to allow itself to be cut up if one didn't have help. It was simply too big to manage on one's own, and had that annoying quality of merely folding to fit between the scissors' blades rather than being cut if it wasn't held exactly right. It was the only reason they'd had to collaborate on this particular bit; after the initial divvying up of tasks, they'd otherwise avoided actually working together on the project they'd been given, sticking to their usual opposite ends of the classroom.

It was for good reason, Dib supposed, one corner of his mouth quirking upward when he caught the shimmer of liquid against the metal. "Dib! Stop zoning in and do your job!"

"It's zoning _out_, moron," he corrected the Irken, who only snorted (Dib wondered vaguely how he managed this, having no visible nose) and held out the fabric insistently. Figuring that the pink-tinted blood wouldn't be noticeable against the vibrant yellow, Dib didn't bother to wipe the scissors off as he snipped a trail up through the cloth.

He also didn't bother to be careful about what he was doing.

The second time he sliced open the Irken's finger, Zim threw the fabric down, fury clear in his gaze as he snarled hastily chosen insults and threats of impending doom, none of which bothered Dib all that much. And when the alien snatched the scissors from his hand, he only smirked, knowing that Zim wouldn't dare to try the same on him; they both knew just what effect human blood had on Irken skin.

* * *

And then Dib was a sadist. :D


	5. Breathe

Dirty minds, beware. ..._Maybe_.

* * *

**BREATHE**

"Zim. ...Hey, Zim." Dib's voice seemed miles away, though the human was pressed in close against him, the whispered words leaving spots of warmth on the Irken's cheek. "Y...you've got to relax, okay?"

Zim blearily shook his head, feeling as though he was choking, and his claws dug into the soft flesh of the other's arms, curled supportively around him. He wasn't sure what point he was trying to get across, only squirming weakly and managing a ragged gasp when Dib moved.

Everything was hazy, he thought, but suddenly it seemed as though the things he felt had been magnified tenfold; a feeling of weightlessness, the touch of the Dib's skin and the tiny rivulets of blood now trickling from it, the sting of that blood against his own skin... He was hurting, Zim realized, and he was hurting a lot – couldn't get enough air, chest tightened in agony as he struggled for it – but something was good, too, something that he didn't want to stop.

Something was good? What was that?

Hazy, too hazy, Zim tried to tell himself, though he only managed a strangled groan; Dib's hand smoothed back antennae, brushed away sweat, and the Irken almost wanted to snap at him. _Did_ want to, but couldn't. No air, no air, no air...

He wouldn't tell him to stop, no... No, he just wanted the pain to go away.

Another choked gasp, more hurting, and more of that something that Zim had an inkling was good; more of that would be nice. He vaguely heard Dib telling him to relax again, and wanted to tell him to shut up and make the hurt go away if he had any sort of decency in him. Or, he would have wanted to tell him that, if his mind hadn't been halfway gone.

Tallests, it hurt so bad...

Something covered his mouth – no, no, that wasn't what he needed now! – he would have shrieked against it had he the air, but the moment passed quickly, and then the something was gone. Some sensations died away; he couldn't feel the sting of human blood, or the arms encircling him – pain dulled, blessed relief, and the good things started to overtake it. From somewhere far off, or nearby – he wasn't sure now, he caught Dib's voice again.

"Hold on, Zim...it'll be all right."

Air flooded into his lungs then, not enough to draw him from his dazed state, and the moment Dib moved again, the air went into fueling a ragged scream.

Everything went black.

...

"Zim-!"

...

"ZIM!" The teen didn't dare move his hand from the gaping chest wound, fought back frantic sobs as the Irken went limp against him. "No, no, no-! Come on, Zim, don't do this now!" His other hand pressed a small device against the alien's mouth, tried to give him the air he needed, tried to block out the other's pain. Air – anesthetic – air – anesthetic –

Why hadn't anyone found them yet?

* * *

Tried to make this highly misinterpretable. I probably failed. Oh, well!


	6. Spit

I wrote most of this a couple years ago, so most of it will probably be pretty shitty. Especially considering how my younger, more foolish self actually described herself to be 'insane' all the time, as though it's something very cool and _edgy _to be. I would have gone back and fixed that, but past-me used the description so many freaking times that I just couldn't be assed. ...Moving on. Its original title was 'ZADR; Plan B', but the title is kind of misleading. You'll see why.

Note: Slight crossover with Tokyo Mew Mew, though you don't need any knowledge of the show whatsoever.

* * *

**SPIT**

A high-pitched whine erupted throughout the roleplay space, a wailing of the name belonging to fangirl number one…Emi. The blonde turned, fox ears twitching curiously as a second, apparently insane girl burst onto the scene, looking traumatized. "Ya gotta help me, Emi!" the girl cried dramatically, clenching her fingers in front of her face. "It's _awful_!"

"Krys?" Emi blinked, a worried look on her face as she adjusted her glasses. "What's wrong?"

Mood changing in an instant, Krys turned sharply to motion irritably towards two familiar characters, her brownish-blonde hair flipping from the quick motion. "Zim and Dib aren't cooperating in any of my attempts to pair them!" she snapped, the arm she was using to point at the two shaking slightly out of anger. "Look at 'em!" she insisted. "No loving! NONE!"

Blandly, Emi glanced from her rather insane friend to the scene behind her; Zim was sneaking up on Dib with most likely malicious intent. Hazel eyes turned back to the fuming authoress. "…Oh. …That's it, huh?" Emi asked hesitantly before adding, "Zim's got a baseball bat…"

Krys whipped around, glaring and pointing an accusing finger at the Irken. "Hit Dib with that and I'll get the SuperSoaker, Zim! I MEAN it!" The 'Invader' promptly hid the evidence with a hasty 'Zim wasn't doing anything!' Meanwhile, Dib simply gave an annoyed scowl and went back to surfing the 'net for more Bigfoot pictures (the amount of which he thought was sadly lacking).

"You're so violent…" Emi sighed, sitting down. Even though she knew she'd regret it, she asked tentatively, "You mentioned 'attempts to pair them'. What exactly did you mean?"

"Well…uh…I can't really remember most of them, but…" Out of nowhere, a screen popped up to float in midair, pictures appearing on them. "Plan number one was to shove Dib on top of Zim and cause an accidental kiss." The screen depicted this with a couple of stick figures representing Krys, Zim, and Dib. Emi raised an eyebrow, but otherwise didn't comment on it. "The result was that…" Krys continued. "…I ended up breaking my leg. It hurt." Emi's eyebrow raised even further as her companion showed the cast on her right leg.

Fifteen minutes later, the more insane of the two fangirls was still going on about the plans so as to add more exposition than was really necessary, and her friend was starting to look increasingly annoyed. "Plan number forty-two was to make a love potion," Krys stated, the screen once again depicting this with stick figures. "Sadly, I suck at chemistry, so I ended up blowing Mew Ichigo to smithereens. Oh, well."

Krys's indifference to causing the death of Tokyo Mew Mew's main character, along with the fact that her leg seemed to be perfectly fine now, brought a whole new level of confusion and annoyance to the accompanying fox-girl.

Two hours later, Emi was nearing the brink of insanity, as it seemed that Krys remembered a whole lot more of her horrible ZADR-plans than she had originally said. "Plan number three-thousand-seven-hundred-fifteen was to wait until they like each other." The screen again depicted this. "But…I…uh…got impatient." She laughed nervously, seemingly not noticing that her friend was thinking something along the lines of 'I should never have asked and I'm sorry I did…' and was probably contemplating suicide by now.

Without a thought as to her companion's mental condition, Krys continued blandly. "Then there was the plan to force Dib to teach Zim slow-dancing. Boy, was THAT a disaster." Emi's ears perked up.

"Wait…that last one sounded somewhat SANE. Why didn't _that_ one work?" she asked, looking confused.

Krys chuckled. "Heh. Silly, naïve Emi…"

Scowling, Emi snapped, "Don't give me that crap. So what, did Zim not cooperate?" Krys gave a slight shrug.

"Oh, no; Zim cooperated just fine when I told him he could be 'Lord' of the Dance. It was Dib who took the whole thing as a joke." When the insane fangirl didn't elaborate, her companion sighed and gave an expectant 'And what happened?' With that, Krys whipped a photograph out of nowhere, holding it with an air that suggested that it was about to explode. "See for yourself," she spat irritably. "Tak was nice enough to capture my embarrassment on film."

Emi hesitantly took the photo, adjusting her glasses as Krys muttered something along the lines of 'Laugh and I kill you'. Sighing, the fox-girl glanced back at her friend. "It can't be THAT bad, I mean really-" She stopped short as her mind registered exactly what the photograph was of.

Apparently, Dib's "slow-dancing" lessons for Zim had included the most ridiculous of moves in the dancing world. It kind of looked like some strange, stereotypical Egyptian dance of a sort, only...it somehow also managed to not resemble a stereotypical Egyptian dance at _all_. Whatever the heck it was, it certainly wasn't slow-dancing, that was for sure. Eyes wide in disturbed amusement, Emi stared down at the picture, trembling slightly as she tried to hold in derisive laughter. Not wanting to offend the other girl with actual laughter, she managed in a strained tone, "I WANT TO LAUGH BUT CAN'T."

The tactic of merely saying such a thing sadly failed to curb the insane girl's temper, and roleplay-enabled flames burst out around her as she death-glared. "IT'S NOT FUNNY!" she shrieked, diving at Emi with a deranged war-cry. Looking as though she wanted to burst out laughing, the fox-girl merely held up a hand against the smaller girl's forehead to keep her at bay.

"Yeah, yeah, okay! It's not funny! So don't go crazy," Emi snickered, raising an eyebrow at the other's antics. This seemed to appease Krys, as she plopped down with a blank smile on her face. "Anyways, now that we've teamed up for ZADR's sake…" Emi jumped into a relatively epic pose. "We need a PLAN!"

Krys blinked. "Wha…huh?" A slightly confused look crossed her face. "But I already _have_ a plan."

Her friend immediately turned, expression irritated. "What did you just say?" she asked, her tone forced. The smaller girl blandly repeated 'I already have a plan', and Emi's eye started to twitch before she screeched, "Then why do you need my HELP?"

"I don't, really," Krys said simply, getting to her feet. "Oi, Dib!" She turned to speak with the paranormalist, but stopped upon seeing that the poor boy had several large lumps on his head and was bleeding rather profusely. "Heh. Oh, yeah," she chuckled before muttering, "I probably should've taken that baseball bat from Zim."

Emi stared at her blandly, then stated matter-of-factly, "I think he's DEAD, Krys."

For a moment, Krys glanced from the seemingly-dead Dib and back to her friend before replying simply, "Nonsense. People don't die in roleplays, Emi."

The only response Emi could think of was a confused 'Um'.

Shrugging, Krys stepped over the paranormalist's body to lean against the table he had been using, giving an irritated glare in Zim's direction. The Irken, of course, didn't spare any of his attention span to bother noticing, as he was currently busy reading a book entitled "World Takeover for Dummies' (which, ironically enough, wasn't about world takeover at all). "Well," the fangirl stated loudly in an attempt to get the alien's attention. "I guess we have to wait until Dib wakes up, cuz he's _obviously_ not dead. Oh, and thanks a LOT, Zim."

The Irken glanced over, giving a bland, "Don't mention it," before returning to his reading, not noticing the increasing ire on Krys's face. However, he certainly noticed it two seconds later when the insane demon-girl brought out a giant fire-hose and turned it on full blast, catching him right in the face with a tidal wave of not particularly clean water. "GYAAAAAA! SKIN! MELTIIIING! _**SO PAINFUL**_!" he screeched, flailing miserably as the force of the water blast pinned him against the ground.

Meanwhile, Emi was doing some flailing of her own, yelling something along the lines of "Calm down, Krys, I'm sure he didn't mean anythi-YOU'RE GONNA KILL HIM! STOP IT!"

Some time later, Zim had managed to escape his watery demise and was currently cowering in an area of the roleplay space that had less Krys in it (which happened to be under the table). Fortunately for the Irken, his book had also managed to escape waterlogged doom, so he read as he cowered, occasionally looking around wildly out of Krys-induced paranoia.

Emi sighed at her place at the table, peering at the mentally scarred Irken under it. "Well…maybe next time you'll think before beating Dib over the head with a baseball bat when Krys is around," she stated. "It's a good thing she calms down quickly…" Trembling, Zim nodded slightly, holding onto his book a little tighter than was necessary as he glanced around nervously again.

Just then, a fourth wall broke as a very-much-alive Dib wandered in, looking excessively confused as he stopped next to the table. "Hey, uh… Do you have _any_ idea at all as to how I survived that beating I took from Zim and his baseball bat?" he asked Emi, who merely stared at him in disturbed shock.

After a moment of silence, in which the rest of Emi's sanity fled, Krys poked her head in with a sagely, "I told you, Emi. People don't die in roleplays." (Don't think about the logistics, children, you'll just get a headache.) Seeing that Dib was once again among the living, the deranged fangirl once again began her ZADR-oriented scheming, and patted the paranormalist on the shoulder good-naturedly. "Anyways, Dib, we all know that Zim was just playing. After all, he _really_ likes-" Dib promptly cut her off before she could finish that particular statement, looking pissed.

"Oh, COME ON! Not _this_ again! For the last time, Zim and I HATE each other!" he snapped, death-glaring Krys with all his might. Sadly, the only thing this managed to accomplish was making Krys drop to her knees and clasp her fingers in front of her face, giving the puppy-eyes as she was finally reduced to, of all plans, begging.

"_Pleeeeeease_! It won't hurt to love each other instead!" she wailed, most-likely-fake tears streaming down her cheeks. Dib stared at her irritably for a moment before sighing harshly and rolling his eyes, giving a strained 'FINE.' as he did so. Tears immediately gone, Krys jumped to her feet and tossed her arms up in victory. "YAY! I WIN!" she screeched, her expression so obscenely happy it was creepy.

Dib whipped around, pointing dramatically at Zim (and wearing one of those strange pointing foam hands people use at sports events in order to intensify the ridiculously dramatic point). "ZIM! We must show our amazing slow-dancing skills!" he exclaimed, clenching his free hand into a fist to emphasize this. Krys's happy expression was promptly replaced by a horrified one that was simply too horrified to describe.

For a moment, the Irken merely stared at the pointy-haired human from his spot under the table, confused at the strange foam hand-thing. Then the human's exclamation kick-started his brain into working order and he scooted out from his spot, giving a bland, "Oh, right. Okay." The two then began a strange, horrible dance that seemed to be anything but slow-dancing. In fact, the only thing this…_movement_ seemed to share with slow-dancing was that it was quite obviously dancing, no matter how freakish and awful it was.

A terrified Krys promptly began flailing helplessly, clenching one eye shut and shrieking, "NOOOOOOO! Anything but THAT! I can't look!"

All of this was taken in by a rather weirded out fox-girl, who could only manage to find one accurate way to describe what was happening: 'Wow. It's even more disturbing in PERSON.' Emi leaned over her friend, who had keeled over in terror at the sight of Zim and Dib 'slow-dancing'. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine…" Krys sighed. "It's just time for my most ingenious plan ever."

Emi raised an eyebrow, one ear quirking. "And you didn't use that plan before?"

"I just thought of it. Anyways, I'm calling it Plan B," Krys said with a nod, sitting up and taking great care to NOT look at the utter ridiculousness that was Zim and Dib.

"What was Plan A?" Emi asked, looking confused.

There was a short silence, in which her friend stared at her blankly before stating, "All the other plans." As the fox-girl muttered something about that not making any sense, Krys jumped to her feet and pointed at Zim dramatically in an almost Dib-esque pose. "ZIM!" Definitely Dib-esque.

Hearing his name, Zim quirked an antenna and glanced over his shoulder, giving a little 'ehn?' as he did so. Upon seeing exactly who had hailed him, the Irken scowled. "What do YOU want? Can't you see that Zim is busy practicing to be ruler of the dancing-ness?"

With a slight grimace, Krys replied mildly, "Yes, and it's disturbing the crap out of me, but that's not the point."

For a moment, Zim and Krys merely stared at each other, before the Irken finally drawled, "Soooo… Leave me alone and go bother someone _else_, pitiful girl-creature. You're wasting my valuable Zim-time." He waved a hand in a shooing gesture, which failed to produce the desired effect, as Krys didn't leave.

"You were supposed to ask what the point _was_," Krys whined, looking like a child who'd just been told that Santa had been blown up.

"DESIST IN YOUR BOTHERING OF ZIM!" the Irken shrieked, earning 75 experience points when his attack of loudness against Krys caused a critical hit. He then stomped off irritably, gaining another 50 combo points over the deranged fangirl (who was obviously losing pitifully in trying to get Zim and Dib together).

Looking very much in pain, Krys put a hand to her ear. "Well…there goes my remaining auditory health," she sighed before half-skipping behind Zim. "Ahem. Uh… You _know_, Zim…uh…" She then put her most likely ridiculous plan into action, her expression stating how insane she herself thought the plan was. "Saliva from humans with large heads can grant you amazing powers."

Frustrated beyond belief at the utter stupidity of it all, Emi shrieked at her, "_That's_ your PLAN?" Fortunately, Zim didn't seem to notice this, as he was too busy looking confused. The Irken peered over his shoulder at Dib, the only human he knew to have a large head, then back over at Krys. He then quirked an antenna.

"Really?" he asked hesitantly. "Ehh…how does it work?"

As Emi looked on in disbelief, a still-scheming Krys began to explain to Zim. "Well, you SEE-" She then went on to describe many explicit details, all of which are far too disturbing to note here.

Zim took all of this in, then as the idea of what the fangirl was going on about sank into his mind, a disturbed expression crossed his face. "…Eww," he stated plainly.

"Yes, yes, making out is bizarre and horrifying, I know," Krys replied good-naturedly. She gave a friendly smile, though to anyone with an IQ over 50, it was obvious that it was far more devious than friendly. "But think about it, Zim. You could use these amazing powers for Earth's invasion!"

Attention - and more importantly, interest - captured at the mention of his 'mission', and the suggestion of using the 'powers' Dib's saliva would grant for world takeover, Zim looked over at the human, carefully scrutinizing him before a thoughtful (and thoroughly evil) smirk crossed his face. The paranormalist seemed sufficiently horrified at the expression, but otherwise said nothing, as he had no idea what his rival and the insane fangirl had been talking about for the past few minutes. If he had, he'd have most likely took off running ages ago.

After an expectant 'Well?' from Krys, Zim clenched his fists. "Zim wants these amazing powers!" he exclaimed.

"Great!" Krys squealed happily. "Now quick! Grab Dib before he gets away!"

Zim promptly glomped onto Dib's arm with a rather cute-sounding 'Gimme!', to which the human responded, "Gh- _WHA_? Zim! What are you DOING?!" He then gave a terribly bemused (and disgusted) noise as Zim made some sort of fish-face in a pathetic attempt to kiss him. "OHMYGAA-!"

Raising an eyebrow, Emi glanced over at her friend, then back to Zim and Dib. Giving a sigh, she turned back to her friend. "You're just lucky that Zim is…well…_stupid_." Krys merely chuckled.

Unsure of exactly what the hell was going on, Dib did the first thing that came to his mind: He punched Zim in the face. The Irken immediately began screeching something about his superior face, clutching at his abused cheek as his victim darted away. Spotting Krys, Dib easily put two and two together and shoved an accusing finger in her face. "What the HELL did you say to Zim? He's gone NUTS!" he exclaimed.

Completely disregarding the question, Krys called out, "Hey, Zim! Quick! He's over here!" The now quite-pissed Irken instantly made his way over to them, looking as though he'd rather kill Dib than jump him (which was true, actually). Seeing this, Dib's face paled and he dashed away, screaming something along the lines of 'NOOOO! I DON'T WANNA HAVE ALIEN BABIES!' as Zim chased after him.

It was about this time that a confused-looking green-haired alien by the name of Kish wandered in, unsure as to why he was in a roleplay. Seeing two familiar faces (Krys and Emi, who had forced him into a roleplay before), he waved hesitantly. "Well…I don't know why I'm here, but hi," he said, chuckling nervously.

"KISH!" Krys yelled, pointing towards Dib, who was currently running past the other alien. "Grab him! Don't let him get away!"

Blinking in confusion, Kish held out an arm and easily snatched the end of Dib's trenchcoat, though he looked uncertain as to why he had to restrain the paranoid boy with the large head. Meanwhile, a terrified Dib tried to squirm away, but was grabbed by a rather irritated Irken before he could manage the escape. "Gah! ZIM! Wait, stop!" Dib pleaded, though the satisfied smirk on Zim's face plainly showed that pleading wasn't going to get him anywhere.

Still hopelessly lost, Kish wandered over to stand by the only relatively sane person in the roleplay: Emi. Nearby, Krys was chuckling at her near-success. "And Kish saves the day…" she drawled. "Never thought _that_ would happen."

"Did I just assist her in one of her evil schemes accidentally?" Kish asked nervously. Emi nodded blandly, giving a 'Yep, you sure did' as she did so. The green-haired boy groaned. "Crap…"

"Hurry, Zim!" Krys shouted gleefully. "I forgot to mention it earlier, but there's time limits on this sorta thing!"

As Emi sighed in exasperation at the pathetic-itude of her insane friend, Zim turned to stare at Krys in disbelief, keeping a firm hold on Dib's trenchcoat collar. "Ehh? Man, saliva is STRICT!" he stated incredulously, somehow managing to keep Dib from squirming away.

"HE'S GONNA RAPE MY FACE!" Dib shrieked, plainly stating that he'd been watching a few too many horror movies with aliens.

Turning back to Dib with a determined expression, Zim proclaimed haughtily, "You should be honored I even _considered_ this, filthy slug!" Ignoring the human's struggles, he then declared, "Your disgusting mouthpart now belongs to ZIM!"

The paranormalist only had a chance to let out a confused 'Wha-?' before his most hated enemy pushed their mouths together forcefully. The boy's hair promptly exploded in a manga-esque fashion as Zim unceremoniously proceeded to a more saliva-oriented kiss.

Kish looked on, horrified, before turning to the two fangirls and snapping, "You two are SICK and TWISTED." Krys merely chuckled as her friend gave a slight sigh.

An hour later, an unsuspecting Tak came upon a horrifying scene. She certainly hadn't been expecting it, and she _definitely_ hadn't WANTED to see it. Finding the reason for the whole situation was easy enough; it started with a 'K' and ended with 'rys'. The Irken promptly headed over to have a good long chat with the source of the problem, who had recently commandeered Dib's table. "All right, _what the hell_. I'm gone from half of your roleplay, and suddenly Zim is willing to suck on Dib's face?" Kish immediately let out a disgusted noise.

"_Taaaak_!" he whined pathetically. "God, that sounded so WRONG!"

As though just realizing something, Krys glanced up. "Oh, hey, Zim's still at it? He must REALLY want those powers." While Emi took a moment to look thoroughly exasperated at the whole situation, Tak stared at the cause of it all with a bemused expression. She then glanced over at Kish hopefully, as though he would have the answers; she merely received a bland shrug. Sighing wearily, Tak turned back to a certain insane fangirl.

"Okay, now I HAVE to know." Five minutes later, Tak looked as though she wished she'd never said it. Krys was smiling a little _too_ cheerfully as she finished with a 'And that's what happened while you were gone!', Emi was rubbing at her head as though to erase the recent events from her subconscious, and Kish was…getting a soda or something. Finally managing to wrap her brain around the whole thing, Tak crossed her arms over her chest and stated simply to the two fangirls, "You two…are sick and twisted."

Kish took this moment to reappear, soda in hand. "My sentiments exactly, Tak," he said with a sagely nod and a chug of his soda. Krys merely chuckled to herself at the statement; her friend, on the other hand, didn't look half as pleased. …Or even a quarter as pleased, for that matter.

"So how's Dib taking it, anyway?" Krys asked Tak curiously. "Haven't heard his whining for a while, so..."

"Yeah, that is pretty weird," Kish agreed, despite the fact that he hardly even knew Dib. He didn't seem concerned by said fact, though, especially when Emi gave her own little nod of agreement.

A now rather bored look on her face, Tak jerked a thumb in the direction of the two boys, replying, "He doesn't seem to mind so much, so I guess he's holding up all right." Krys gave a delighted little squeal, clapping her hands giddily, while the green-haired alien across from her simply shook his head, disgusted. Emi, on the other hand, actually took the time to examine the (almost somewhat disturbing) make-out scene somewhere off to the right of their odd little group.

Tak's observation hadn't been entirely correct; in fact, from the look of his still shell-shocked expression, it was likely that the only reason Dib hadn't tried to escape was because the last surviving remnants of his sanity had recently imploded.

Oh, well, that was just too bad, Emi concluded, figuring that it was bound to happen eventually anyway. At least Zim was content for the moment...although... "Man, he's gonna be pissed when he finds out he doesn't have powers." Krys blinked at that, turning to look at her friend.

"Oh, right. I forgot about that," she admitted with a little nervous laugh, even though it should have been a given that Zim would absolutely _freak_ if he knew he'd done such things for no good reason. She'd been more worried about the admittedly rather terrible plan succeeding, however, rather than about what would happen afterward.

As the other two aliens smacked their hands to their foreheads, exasperated, the fangirls sat quietly contemplating just what Zim might do once he discovered the treachery. They then glanced to each other and gave little shrugs.

"It was worth it," Krys decided.

"Yep," Emi agreed.

* * *

Wasn't that SO romantic? (Answer: no.) For those wondering, here are some more answers: 1.) Yes, this was an actual roleplay between a friend and I several years back. 2.) Kish is the main villian in Tokyo Mew Mew, while the mentioned Mew Ichigo is the main hero, and 3.) In some previous roleplay Kish and Tak had already met, hence their lack of 'who the heck is this person?'.

Also, I was originally making a comic for this, but then I got lazy, didn't work on it for years despite the sketches being completely finished, and now the art is shit and I want to redo it, only I'm too lazy. So...not sure if it'll ever happen at this point.

...Gonna shut up now.


	7. Under

I was tempted to do something ZADR related for this, but I squashed the urge because the only idea I had was kind of tasteless, and I liked this idea better. So...no ZADR for you.

* * *

**UNDER**

Foot to foot to foot; the disguised Irken shifted his weight nervously, glancing around here and there in the hopes of finding an escape route. He wasn't yet sure if he'd need it, but it would be good to have one, anyway.

The little haughty chuckle that emanated from nearby – off to the left in an oddly downward direction – had Zim scowling, his fidgeting broadened now to his hands. Gloves gone to leave the sensitive flesh bare, he felt terribly exposed to the elements and to the whims of a certain horrible human, and thus his fingers fidgeted.

He did _not_ like this.

Not _one_ bit.

He backed up sharply when a few small waves of water splashed over the curved edge, grimacing when it still managed to trickle far enough to get under his feet – just as bare, just as uncomfortable. He'd bathed thoroughly in paste today, knowing what was to come, but he definitely preferred not having anything to do with the awful liquid in the first place. Another splash, this time the fault of his rival, hit his shins, leaving him with spots of varying size that tingled mildly, despite the cool temperature. "Very funny," he drawled flatly, arms crossing over his chest as he frowned down at the boy.

Dib grinned back up at him, ever-so-smug, before he leaned back seemingly weightlessly, arms folded behind his head as he bobbed in the water. "Yeah, I know. So, come on, _Spaceboy_. Aren't you going to join everyone?" The grin widened as he added on pointedly, "Be _normal_?"

Grimacing again, Zim padded over to the edge of the pool, squatting and glaring down at it critically. "I'm _normal_," he responded gruffly, poking at the surface of the water with a hesitant claw. How annoyingly tingly – it would be like immersing himself in liquid static.

He wondered vaguely how long his paste would last him once he was fully submerged.

He also wondered just what idiot had thought that a field trip to the nearest public pool would be a good idea.

He would have done some more wondering, but Dib chose that moment to snag the alien's wrist, dragging him back down with him with a mighty splash.

Huh.

It really _was_ like liquid static.

* * *

I actually wrote 'liquid static' on accident at first, erased it, realized I liked the concept, and rewrote it again. Now I don't even remember what I'd intended to write in the first place. XD


	8. War

Another obvious theme, with added obviousness. Praise me. PRAISE MEEEE!

* * *

**WAR**

Today was one of the slow days. No death-mechs, clever infiltrations, long epic rants, or anything of the sort.

Today, Zim and Dib were feeling – to put it very simply – exhausted.

The past week had consisted of varying space battles, brought about by an enormous misunderstanding that had been further magnified by Zim's amazing ineptitude; how was he, the Irken had argued, supposed to know that the passing fleet of ships had been on a peaceful mission on the _other_ side of the galaxy and had just happened to get lost? Why was it _his_ fault, he had then debated angrily, that he had done what any self-respecting Invader would have done?

At the end of it all, Dib hadn't really felt like arguing, and just told Zim that asking questions _before_ shooting off weapons of mass destruction might have been a good idea.

Was _always_ a good idea, he'd added on pointedly, and Zim had nodded and tucked the information deep into the particular portion of his mind where he'd never find it again. Let's call that portion of his mind the 'logical center' and leave it at that.

So, at the conclusion of the misunderstanding; Zim grumpy from being tossed around in the cockpit of his Voot Cruiser for hours on end as it was bombarded with missiles too primitive to actually do much damage, and Dib about to fall asleep on his feet after a week of very little (if any) rest; the two rivals-turned-momentary-allies lay sprawled on the floor of Zim's base, playing some mindless game.

They played this game because it appealed to their senses at the moment; it was a mindless sort of game, allowing Zim to forget the irritation that had built up over the course of the battles, and the game's results were more or less random, to where it was just interesting enough to keep the Irken occupied without boring him to death. Dib, on the other hand, absolutely hated this game, but played it anyway because he hadn't yet managed to fall asleep, and was trying to bore himself into unconsciousness.

At the moment, Zim was winning, one hand tightly clutching a large stack of cards as though if he didn't hold it so tightly, Dib might try to cheat again. Of course, in reality, Zim was the one cheating, albeit unwittingly, as his human nemesis was currently too out of it to notice which cards were actually being put down.

Eventually, the Irken declared victory, gleefully waving the completed stack of cards and failing to notice that Dib was no longer listening, and was instead snoring and drooling on his base's clean floor.

* * *

I BET YOU CAN'T GUESS WHAT GAME THEY WERE PLAYING.


	9. Mother

I think this is a prompt in another of the lists I chose, but I'll figure that little problem out when I come to it. Maybe I'll just write two of the same prompt. Or maybe I'll be lazy. WHO KNOWS?!

* * *

**MOTHER**

When the front door slammed, the controller in Zim's hand dropped onto his lap and he stared in surprise at the other human suddenly in the room; next to him, Dib didn't seem to notice the intruder, and only continued to mercilessly slaughter his rival's chosen character while he was distracted. The Irken frowned, elbowed the boy in the arm, and motioned curiously to the tall dark-haired woman, who had invited herself into the kitchen with little preamble, bags in hand.

Dib glanced up, saw who it was, shrugged, and simply finished off his virtual opponent. "How are you doing, Dib?" the woman called as she began unpacking, putting away the contents in their proper places.

"Fine," he offered in reply, tone uninterested. He then elbowed Zim in return, nodding toward the television screen; round two had begun.

The alien adjusted his wig subconsciously, a little scowl on his face at having been unfairly defeated in round one, and he reclaimed his controller quickly, doing his best to smash Dib's character into the floor as well as keep some of his focus on the mysterious (and in his opinion, suspicious) stranger, who had come in seemingly at random just to put away some groceries. When the woman stepped back out into the living room and smiled at him, Zim averted his attention fully, slamming the buttons roughly and growling; Dib wouldn't win _this_ time!

"I see you've made a friend," the lady observed, although wrongly, pulling a scoff from the Irken and a slight roll of the eyes from Dib.

"Not really," Dib responded dully, gaze not moving from the screen as he activated his super-move, leaving Zim's poor abused character with only a sliver of life left. Unsurprisingly, an irritated snarl was heard from the disguised alien next to him, who still had yet to figure out just what buttons he had to press to accomplish that same feat.

Though a bit bemused by the boy's reply, the stranger didn't comment on it, and only gave a half-hearted little wave. "All right, then. Well...I'll see you in a few weeks," she stated awkwardly, making her way out the door and closing it behind her.

Throwing down the controller angrily when the final hit was landed and his character died spectacularly, Zim directed a frown at the door, annoyed by the distraction, then directed the frown at Dib, annoyed for obvious reasons. "Who was _that_?" he prompted demandingly, eyes narrowed in distrust.

The boy gave a little shrug of one shoulder. "My genetic donor. She visits every month with groceries, because Dad always forgets," he explained, more intent on choosing a new stage where he could frag Zim just as mercilessly than he was on the current topic of conversation.

"Genetic...donor." The Irken blinked, somewhat confused, and he attempted to clarify. "Your female parental unit?"

"Not really. She didn't raise me or anything," Dib told him offhandedly, pointing to where a different level had unfolded around the virtual fighters. In kind, Zim prepared himself for another few rounds of button-mashing, though he gave a somewhat interested hum that told his rival that he expected more than that simple sentence. The paranormalist made a somewhat grumpy noise, but complied anyway. "She didn't give birth to me, either. Dad made me, just like he made Gaz. So, the lady you just saw was my genetic donor." He shrugged again, a motion that appeared to suggest he found the concept simple enough, thus, he wasn't going to go any further into it.

Luckily, Zim seemed content with the information, almost strangely pleased by it, and merely slumped back to make himself more comfortable on the squishy couch. As his fingers pounded relentlessly on the controller buttons, the Irken offered conversationally, "I had a cold, unfeeling robot arm...but it doesn't deliver groceries because I only knew it for about thirty-two seconds."

"Did you." Dib didn't really care, so he didn't make it a question, but he also didn't care enough to stop Zim from talking about it, so he said it anyway in case the Irken wanted to.

"Yeah," Zim confirmed, a slight grin quirking at his lips when he finally managed the super-move, then frowning when he realized he hadn't taken note of the button sequence necessary to use it. He then shrugged, figuring he'd get the hang of it eventually, and continued where he'd left off. "I bet it still liked Zim best, though."

"I'm sure."

And then Dib won for the eighth time in a row, and the conversation was promptly forgotten.

* * *

According to planned stuffs for the episodes that couldn't be made, Professor Membrane did, in fact, make Dib. He's some sort of genetically engineered superchild, and I'm assuming the same would be true for Gaz. And when I think about that, I have to wonder if she might be his half-sister instead... Different genetic donor or something, maybe? I'd go into that more, but I'm lazy. :[

Edit: Thanks to vertigeaux, for reminding me that androids are just fully robotic and look like humans, and are not partially-to-mostly made of human parts (as I initially thought for some reason), thus, Dib cannot be an android because he clearly has organs and bodily functions and the like. And I'm really not sure where the heck I got that idea about androids from. xD So, yeah, that's fixed now. Whoo!


	10. Distasteful

Another theme that ended up different from what I intended. Bleh.

* * *

**DISTASTEFUL**

"Do _not_..._speak_...to anyone," Zim had warned him. It was the first thing the Irken had said to him once they landed on the planet, before the hatch had opened to allow their disembarking.

Desperately wanting to set foot on an alien world for the first time (not including Mercury – no actual aliens there), Dib had hastily agreed, nodding frantically and trembling with excitement. His rival-but-not-quite-enemy-anymore-because-their-relationship-just-made-no-sense-at-this-point had then flicked an irritated antenna, rolled his eyes, and allowed the teen to run wild. Almost immediately, Dib managed to acquire thirteen different souvenirs, all of which were fortunately free.

Frowning a most impressive frown, Zim adjusted the funny hat the human had gleefully bestowed on him (while squealing about how it was _from another planet –_ oh, _goodie _– how impressive to anyone who hadn't been on this planet _fifty times already_), then simply stalked off towards the nearest restaurant. They'd been flying for hours, and more than anything, Zim needed a _snack_. Preferably something dripping with cheese and some sort of spicy goo.

Dib caught up with him a few minutes later, arms laden with free trinkets, and as the teen babbled excitedly about this and that and also some other thing that Zim _didn't care about_, he stuck a couple of the souvenir pins in the Irken's new (but also unwanted) hat. "You're not going to be like this the whole time, are you?" Zim asked him flatly, getting a curious look.

"I haven't actually talked to anyone," Dib informed him. "Just like you told me. I'm just looking for the 'free' signs."

"Yes, well, it's really annoying," the Irken huffed, staring up at the bit of hat he could see and frowning that impressive frown again. "We're not here for these...junk...things."

A little shrug, and Dib replied, somewhat grudgingly, "You've never _once_ said what we're doing here, anyway." Zim shifted uncomfortably at those words, avoiding looking at the boy, and Dib got the feeling that whatever it was they were here to do, Zim didn't really want to think about it.

* * *

Feel free to decide exactly what they're doing there.


	11. Want

You have _no_ idea how fun this was for me.

* * *

**WANT**

Irkens had a natural tendency to lay claim to everything – it all had to be theirs, and if it couldn't be theirs...well, then, no one else was getting it, either.

It had always been so; from their primitive beginnings deep within the rich soil of Irk, where they dug vast tunnel systems and cast out or slaughtered all who intruded into their hive-like beginnings of a society, to the present-day conquerors they were now, with a deeply ingrained xenophobia and their most important structures still buried deep beneath the surface.

It surprised Dib when he learned that the Irken Empire had never intentionally become the galactic superpower it was today. He came across the information quite by accident, actually, while he was trying (and failing) to hack into Zim's computer in the hopes it would obey him instead of the insane Invader. Who, by the way, knew very well that Dib was in his base, but wasn't altogether worried because he also knew very well that the boy had accidentally trapped himself and wouldn't be getting out anytime soon, either. So, he more or less just watched him on the security cameras and laughed his ass off.

As it turned out, Irkens were very simple-minded creatures. Before their introduction to the rest of the universe, they hadn't a clue that there _was_ a rest of the universe, and were quite content to have their entire planet under their control. Everything they knew was theirs, so everything they knew was good. Technology hadn't yet occurred to them, as they got along quite well without it, thank you very much. Tasty snacks were plentiful, the Tallest was a pretty cool lady, and there were just enough rampaging flogwhuds still around to chuck sharp stones at every now and again when one was feeling as though something needed to be thoroughly subjugated.

And then, a Vortian craft came shrieking from the atmosphere, having lost its way, and crashed into the nearest Irken settlement.

Suffice to say, the Irkens had not been particularly happy.

They did, however, quite like the whatever-it-was that had smashed into their favorite city, and once its barely-alive pilot had recovered and managed to fix his vessel, a group of Irkens decided they'd quite like to see what it was all about.

And that was how the Irken race discovered the universe.

Of course, it didn't take long before they got it into their heads that...hey! This exists! It should be ours! And, in a shocking development, they proved that although they were indeed simple-minded, they were also terribly ingenious when it came to technology; not even a century after their first visit from extraterrestrials, the Irken Empire had an entire fleet of spacecraft and were already conquering their first planet (granted, one without sentient life, but a planet nonetheless).

It was this first victory that brought a stunning revelation to their kind. Why conquer something that had nothing on it? Why not, instead, take something that had already been prepared, and could be perfected by being theirs? After all, if all the races out there belonged to them, obviously so too would all the planets and stars!

It made perfect sense to them.

Everything had to be theirs.

_Everything._

Dib, hearing a high-pitched whirring as his laptop was yet again blocked by the more advanced Irken tech, sighed and pulled away from the small screen, done with reading the bit of alien history and feeling as though he should _really _try to find a way out. Unhooking the laptop and frowning at the monstrous control panel it had been connected to, he shook his head and started to walk aimlessly, hoping he wouldn't stumble across Zim while he searched for an escape route. He could hear the Irken's shrieking cackles from somewhere nearby, and had a nasty feeling his presence hadn't gone undetected, a nasty feeling that Zim _knew _he was lost.

He didn't liked the idea of being trapped down here, despite all the opportunities it might offer; Earth would be left defenseless against Zim's desire to conquer, to own, and Dib wasn't about to let that happen. He realized, too, with a cold tremor down his back, that the Earth wasn't the only thing at stake here; everything meant everything, and Dib wasn't excluded from that.

* * *

I guess you could interpret that last bit as some strange hint at ZADR if you squint hard enough...

Oh, for those who care at all about Fall to Ruin and its prospective sequel stuffs, this is, in fact, the history I have chosen for the Irken race. ...For some reason, I imagine their more primitive society to be kind of similar to how meerkats live - and don't think that's weird, cuz meerkats are fucking brutal, guys.


	12. Alone

Not sure if I love this or want to burn it for being lame.

* * *

**ALONE**

It was at times like these that neither were really sure if they could call the other their enemy. Rival, yes, annoyance, yes, someone to always lay the blame on, infinitely yes, but enemy? Sure, that had been the nature of their relationship at the beginning of it all, when they had been more than willing to try for a killing blow (or at least a very debilitating one that would smart for some time), but then a certain kind of fun had come about it.

Ending their rivalry meant an end to quite a bit of great entertainment – Dib wouldn't get to play hero and spy on an alien invader on the weekends (and most weekdays) anymore, while Zim wouldn't have a proper subject (that is, someone specific that he really didn't like) to test out an immense variety of ridiculous insults, pranks, and experiments on. There were a large amount of other reasons for them to refrain from actually winning their little game, but there was one reason in particular that led them to avoid it at all costs. It was a reason they never spoke of, one they would never admit to, least of all to each other.

Ironically, it was the reason that came up most often, though never in verbal form. It came in the form of the occasional passing of notes in class, or of a quick (though often mocking) phone call. It came in the form of Zim suddenly deciding to sit across from Dib in the cafeteria for lunch every now and then, or Dib insisting the alien come over so he could mercilessly beat him in every other video game his sister owned.

Yes, they were rivals.

Yes, they hated absolutely everything about each other.

Yes, they couldn't go five minutes without spouting off some kind of insult.

But it was better than sitting in silence, with nothing to do, and no one to talk to, both social outcasts in every sense of the phrase. And it was at times like this – Zim slumped in boredom on a too-lumpy pink couch, an annoying robot oblivious to everything but his own mindless pursuits hopping about nearby – Dib suffering through another rerun of an especially bad old episode of Mysterious Mysteries, an angry Gaz playing her GameSlave next to him and ignoring his overall existence – that they both realized that.

Then, either Zim would find the inspiration to concoct some plan for world domination, or Dib would decide that now would be the perfect time to infiltrate an alien base, or – like today – one or the other would pick up the phone and give his rival a call.

Today, it was Zim.

"Oh, hey. Nothing to do today, huh?"

"Mmhmm. And that horrible robot ate half the couch, so Zim can't even be properly bored all over it."

"There's some dumb new movie out if you want to see it."

"Is that the one with aliens in it?"

"Don't they look _so_ fake?!"

"Do you even have to _ask_ that question?"

"Oh, forget it! Are you gonna go or not?"

"Obviously, _stinkmeat_!"

"Bet I can beat you there, _Spaceboy_!"

"Ha! As though a pitiful _hyuuman_ could best ZIM!"

Today, there would be no empty silence, no boredom of solitude. Today, the two rivals intended to take advantage of the other's company, and ignore the fact that, to anyone else, they might have seemed like the best of friends.

* * *

I'm leaning towards the 'burn it' choice.


	13. Europe

It's time for some pointless interaction between characters! Hooray!

* * *

**EUROPE**

"I thought our middul skool teachers told us hi skool would be impossibly hard." Dib glanced up from his homework, brow furrowed a little as he examined the disguised Irken seated across from him, balancing a pencil on one claw and looking highly bored. Apparently, he'd already finished with most of his assignments.

Shrugging, he replied, "Yeah, well, Miss Bitters told us middul skool would be impossibly hard, too. Teachers are weird like that." Zim stuck out his tongue at the mention of their old fourth (and horridly enough, fifth) grade teacher, gave a very small shake of disgust, forgot about it, and flicked the pencil he was balancing up in the air. He failed to catch it, directed the appropriate scowl at Dib when a chuckle escaped the boy, and reclaimed the object sullenly, not entirely wanting to waste yet more of his time on this last paper in front of him.

Taking to chewing on his eraser, and finding that it tasted absolutely _horrible_, Zim frowned at the bit of homework. He hated homework. It was just about as bad as...the taste of his eraser. Ugh. Why was he still chewing on that stupid thing?

Putting the pencil to paper in order to get the now slightly drooled on eraser away from him, the alien tried to discreetly remove the taste from his mouth with the back of a gloved hand; it didn't quite work, but Dib hadn't noticed. And if he had, he didn't care enough to mention it, and now the Irken didn't really care either. Now that the pencil was in a position perfect for writing, Zim sat frowning at the first question and trying to remember all the useless names of places the teacher had bombarded them with earlier that day.

Heck, he hardly remembered Earth's name half the time – how was he expected to know the names of continents, countries, and even _cities_ on the miserable dirtball?

"Hey, Dib?" he prompted casually, pointedly not looking at the boy. Dib gave an only half-interested sound that seemed to suggest Zim go ahead and ask whatever it was he felt he had to ask, so ask Zim did. "Where was Spain again?"

Dib looked back up at him, this time with a raised eyebrow. "I am _not_ going to help you with your homework," he told the alien flatly. "Look it up yourself."

"Couldn't find it," he lied dully, poking at the paper with the graphite edge and leaving a series of dots along the white surface. "It's in Finland, right?"

"Finland is a country," Dib corrected with a roll of his eyes.

"Uh...oh. ...But isn't Spain a city?"

"Mmm, nope. Sorry."

Huffing, Zim rested his chin in a hand, doodling nonsense patterns on the corner of the page as he stared across the table at the teen. "So...Spain is a continent." Dib only directed an unimpressed stare up at him before shaking his head and continuing his own homework, refusing to give any sort of input that might be of help to the Irken. Said Irken just huffed again, slouching down lazily and glaring at the blobs and the little lines inside them that decorated the paper.

"...Geography is stupid," Zim decided then. "When I rule the planet, that'll be the first thing to go."

* * *

Dib agrees that it is indeed stupid and should be the first thing to go, but doesn't say anything, because he doesn't want to sound like he supports what Zim's doing. Because that would be crazy and out-of-character.


	14. Urban

Something's off about this thing. I think the narrative switch throws it off. ...I mean, I _think _there's a narrative switch. I don't even know. I just know something's off about it. It's weird.

Also, my thanks to those who reviewed - you have filled me with the squishiest of squishy glees, and as such, here's another prompt! Hooray!

* * *

**URBAN**

He should have expected that the second time he tried it, the same thing would happen. There was just no doing anything useful with GIR, unless one was looking for a dance club, or a taco shop, or something equally stupid. He'd hoped that such wasn't the case, but hoping really only got you so far when it came to defective robots. That is...not far at all.

Or, in Zim's case, pretty dang far.

This was, however, in a much more literal sense rather than a figurative one, as he was once again lost in the middle of the city, and his horrible SIR unit had rushed off in a fit of giggling madness, leaving him stranded. He should have known that the new guidance chip would fail spectacularly, even though he'd bolted it into the robot's head this time. Apparently this time around, GIR had shorted it out by leaving a sopping wet sponge in his head, for no other reason other than to have it in his head.

Zim knew this for a fact, as he'd spent twenty minutes dragging that exact reason from his insane SIR. Though, he still wasn't entirely sure _why_ GIR had wanted a sopping wet sponge in his head.

What he was sure of, though, was that he probably didn't want to know, and also that he was really sick of Dib's penchant of stalking him. (This last part is important, seeing as how not two minutes after GIR had run off screeching, the dirt-monkey himself had appeared, laughing at Zim's misfortune.)

Fortunately, Zim got to laugh at Dib's misfortune not moments later, as the paranormalist had been more focused on stalking his rival than on keeping track of where he was going. He stopped laughing the moment he realized that, had Dib actually paid attention to his whereabouts, he might have been able to follow the human back to familiar territory. It was a realization that brought him to promptly smack Dib upside the head, proclaiming that the action was perfectly justified.

It was only after half an hour of yelling, arguing, ranting, and other such synonyms that the two decided to put aside their differences for the moment and find their way back; Zim _really_ didn't want to end up in Mexico again, and Dib _really_ didn't know what Zim was talking about whenever he brought that up.

He also really didn't want to have to go traipsing about the city with a deranged alien in tow, but...no going back now.

Sighing as he scuffed his feet against the floor and waited for the Irken, who had suddenly insisted on a bathroom break despite the fact that his body most certainly didn't work like that, Dib cursed his luck for the fifty-third time that day. He was certainly on a roll today.

"Hey, Dib-stink! How's this look?"

Dib stared, squinted, tilted his head, and stared some more, not entirely sure what he was seeing. He guessed that part of what stood before him was Zim, but... "What...are you wearing?" he asked hesitantly, tilting his head some more, as though it would help him figure out this visual puzzle.

"My city disguise!" Zim exclaimed, as though it were obvious. "I didn't have time to put it on earlier. Too busy being _amazing_. ...And trying to keep GIR from molesting the neighbor's cat, but that's not the point." He waved the not-point away with a sweep of a gloved hand, continuing proudly, "A most ingenious disguise! Certainly you find it HIP, yes?"

"Uh...sure...? But..._why_?" That was really all Dib wanted to know; a reason would make this atrocity a little less hard on him.

The disguised (and hip, don't forget) alien gave a scoff and flicked his eyes skyward in exasperation, again expecting that Dib was some sort of mind-reader and should know this already. "To fit in, stupid dirt-worm!" he responded irritably, adjusting his too-large baseball cap so that it faced to the side and making Dib want to yank the stupid thing off his head. Or face it the proper way, at least. "As an Invader, Zim must appear _normal_!" Following this sentence, there was a slight length of quiet, in which Zim assumed his rival was allowing the amazing words to sink in.

He was, in actuality, just a little baffled. Then, finding a shred of logic that might penetrate the alien's thick skull, Dib asked, "So, uh...Zim? Do you see _anyone_ dressed like that around here?"

Zim stared around, putting a thoughtful hand against his mouth as he made a matching thoughtful noise. He then pointed gleefully, a wide grin on his face. "_That_ guy!" he confirmed.

Immediately, Dib spun around to catch sight of the guy, finding... "...But...that's just a hobo," he said helplessly, by now developing a slight confusion-induced headache.

"Exactly!" Zim snapped, turning on his heel and stalking off in a randomly chosen direction. "Now _hurry up_! This city reeks of filth!"

For the fifty-fourth time that day, poor confused Dib cursed his luck, wishing he'd just stayed home today.

He _really_ hadn't wanted to go traipsing around the city with a deranged (and hip...?) alien in tow...

* * *

Considered just lopping off the first part and starting from Zim speaking, but didn't know if that would help. Or make sense. ...Meh. Input?


	15. Rain

This is kind of weird. Also, rather blatant ZADR.

* * *

**RAIN**

Dib found the alien sprawled out on the grass in his backyard, frowning up at the sky and squinting every now and then. He wasn't sizzling, so the paranormalist figured he'd taken the usual precautions, but that didn't explain..._this_.

A slight amused look on his face, he sat down alongside Zim, who directed a frown at him and grumbled, "Go away, Dib-smell. I'm practicing." Dib couldn't help but chuckle.

"Practicing _what_? Getting wet?"

"Exactly!" The Irken looked away, instead scowling up at the dark clouds, heavy with the hated liquid, as though daring them to do their worst. As though to answer the challenge, there came a rumble of thunder, and the droplets fell faster, thicker. Zim grimaced a bit, but remained on his back, fists clenched and antennae flattened stubbornly.

Shaking his head, Dib leaned over the alien. "You're being ridiculous," he told him.

The scowl once focused on the storm clouds now focused on the taller male. "You're being...ehn..." Zim trailed off, one ruby eye squinting shut before he snapped, "You're stupid!" and left it at that.

"I'm a little concerned," Dib corrected, making sure to keep the alien's face protected from the steadily worsening weather. "You're allergic to this stuff, Zim. No amount of practice is going to fix that." The Irken growled under his breath and averted his gaze, saying nothing. "You've got paste, an umbrella, me...that's enough, right?"

Zim sat up then, staring at him levelly, one antenna lulling to the side, before he simply gave a small huff and nodded. "The paste works well," he admitted grudgingly.

The dark-haired man put on a mock-hurt expression at that. "What, I don't help?" he asked, feigning sadness in his tone to match the look he was giving the Irken. Zim rolled his eyes and didn't acknowledge the question, only extended his hands expectantly. A little grin replaced Dib's false pout, and he tugged Zim up along with him as he got to his feet.

When the man kept one gloved hand in his as they headed back inside, the Irken stared blandly at their linked fingers, unsure of how to react and thus not uttering a word. Once seated in the kitchen, Zim stayed quiet as Dib fetched a towel for him, tossing it over his head playfully before wiping away the dampness there, gentle against sensitive green skin and even more sensitive antennae. His mouth pursed a bit when the gloves were tugged off, the soft cloth moving over the backs of his hands and under his palms to then envelop his fingers, but still he said nothing.

A light sigh escaped him when the human stopped the touches there, not wanting to push the Irken's patience, and finally Zim spoke. "You do help," he murmured quietly, hesitantly. Dib leaned down a bit, curious, but not demanding explanation, and offered the towel so the alien could finish the task himself in private, only to have Zim shake his head and glance up at him; his expression was almost nervous, even shy. "You want to help, yes?"

Dib looked from the towel to the alien, certain that he'd heard right, but uncertain as to whether or not Zim meant to suggest what he'd been thinking, then risked an affirmative nod.

The Irken mimicked the gesture, satisfied by the answer, and sank back into the chair lazily. One claw-like finger trailed along the man's chin, a glint of mischief evident in the ruby eyes, before Zim whispered, "I'm not dry yet, Dib-human."

* * *

Unfortunately, Dib quickly learns that Irkens don't have reproductive parts, and is quite disappointed that Zim would mess with him like that. The end! ((canned laughter))

You can all decide for yourself whether or not this pans out in such a way, of course. Perhaps in whatever alternate universe this takes place in, Zim's got the necessary bits. Who knows? ((shrug)) I tend to flip back and forth between Irkens being hermaphrodites or the whole canon 'not having parts at all' thing, myself. Depends on what's more amusing or plot-appropriate, I guess.


	16. Wrath

Ended up slightly different again, but I actually like this better. So it's all good.

Oh, right. There's mentions of religion, in case that bothers anyone.

* * *

**WRATH**

They'd picked a fight in the wrong classroom, in front of the wrong teacher, but only Dib really understood the whole extent of their punishment. Sitting in detention next to the disguised Invader, thick books with tissue-thin pages on the desks in front of them, the teen sighed and flipped to the next page carefully, not wanting to risk tearing the paper and having their teacher flip out for an entirely different reason. He had a feeling this sort of punishment would be frowned on here at skool, but it didn't particularly bother him, so he smartly kept his mouth shut.

Zim, on the other hand, was absolutely hating this punishment, because he simply couldn't comprehend it.

Glaring down at the flimsy pages, the Irken shook his head, scoffed, crossed his arms and slouched in his chair, and then – as an added bonus – glared some more. He glared at the assignment sheet, with the list of words with numbers next to them that corresponded to certain passages in the enormous book. He glared at the book, with the certain passages the teacher had said would pave the way to better understanding each other, their situation, and how to come to a peaceful resolution. He then glared at the teacher, once her back was turned, and decided that he hated her even more than he hated the meat-creature next to him.

She had told him to read the given passages, think about them, and then write down how they applied to why he was in trouble and what he could do to fix the underlying problem. Zim had read them, all right, and had thought about them long and hard.

He had come to the conclusion that it was a load of absolute rubbish.

Grumbling lowly to himself, the Invader scratched at his wig irritably for a while as he stared down at the pieces of blank notebook paper awaiting his answers. He then glanced over at Dib for a moment, frowning when he saw that the boy had already written quite a few of his own answers down, apparently not having much trouble at all with it. Glancing at the teacher and noting that she was currently immersed in grading assignments, her back to the two boys, Zim scribbled something down on a spare sheet of paper and shoved it Dib's way.

The boy looked up in slight surprise, squinting uncertainly at Zim as he took the offered sheet, then emitted a quiet exasperated groan when he skimmed over the hastily written text. He then motioned to the teacher in an obvious gesture – 'You want _more_ trouble?' – and crumpled the paper up, tossing it to the wastebasket. The Irken seemed to shrink on himself a bit, but it was not lost on him when Dib's elbow moved just enough to give a clear view of what he'd written. Zim wasn't sure exactly why the help was being offered, but he didn't question his luck, and instead began to scrawl down his own version of the human's words.

What he was doing went unnoticed for quite a while; in fact, the hour of detention was nearly up before he was a little too careless, leaning a little too far and wondering if that messy squiggle was an 'h' or a 'q'. The teacher zeroed in on the familiar cheating movement like a hawk, scrambled to her feet, and proceeded to shriek her head off.

At some early point during her tirade, she'd excused Dib from the classroom, and he'd hurriedly complied, not even bothering to put his belongings back into his knapsack neatly in his haste to escape. He waited outside the door for his rival, though, leaning back against the lockers across the hall and giving a slight wince whenever a particularly loud screech emitted from inside the room. Eventually, Zim stepped out looking a bit shaken by the woman's sudden (and very long) rant, but he was otherwise fine, if not a little on the irritated side.

He scowled somewhat when Dib joined him, walking alongside him as he headed out the doors, across the parking lot, and towards his base, but didn't complain. He had other things to complain about, and needed an audience. Already he was feeling a little better, because Dib was expecting him to complain, expected he needed an audience, and clearly wanted to hear every detail so long as it had something to do with Zim's misfortune. Sure, it would only be amusing for the boy, but it would also be relieving for the Irken, so when Dib prompted him to begin with an interested, "Well?" he didn't hesitate.

"She said I'm going to Hell," Zim told him sourly, not even entirely sure what that meant.

Whatever the meaning, it had Dib laughing. "Probably true," he replied, "But I'm pretty sure it's not up to her, anyway. And if she doesn't know that by now, then...well, there's really no point listening to her, is there?" The Irken didn't understand what that meant, either, but regardless, it had his mood improving just a bit more, to where he strangely wasn't even feeling that mad about the day's turn of events. He almost didn't even want to rant about it anymore, but he did it anyway, just for good measure.

At the end of it all, they were both in good enough spirits to ease into an almost amicable sort of conversation.

"Hey, Dib-smell? What did that Jonas guy and his whale have anything to do with our fight?"

"I really have no idea."

* * *

Yes, I'm well aware that Zim messed up on Jonah's name. There's a couple good reasons for that, and hopefully you can all understand it. (If not, here's a hint: Zim is kind of stupid.)

I was going to get into the reason for Dib allowing Zim to copy off him, but it didn't really flow that way. So I left it out. You guys can decide on your own. You're all big kids now, I think you can handle that.


	17. Puzzle

I think this is one of my favorites so far. I really do.

* * *

**PUZZLE**

"Okay...tell me again, Zim," Dib said hesitantly. "...What is this thing supposed to do?"

The Irken groaned and threw his hands up in frustration, having already explained this particular concept four or five times now. He just couldn't understand why his enemy wasn't getting it! Sure, it had a lot to do with certain rules of physics that humans had yet to consider the existence of (let alone discover), and quite a lot to do with some place halfway across the galaxy that Dib had never even heard of, but he'd figured it would be simple enough!

Quietly counting to ten under his breath, while his PAK silently counted to thirty million in those same few seconds, Zim decided that it just wasn't worth it to get worked up over the stupidity of a human. He then went over it again, slowly, so the Dib could catch every word.

Had he been able to, Dib would have rubbed at his temples. Sadly, he was currently restrained by about twenty-seven (he'd counted) thick cables and was actually thoroughly astonished that he was still able to breathe. So, instead of rubbing at his temples, he gave a little sound of annoyance and tried not to show that he was uncomfortable; squirming would amuse Zim, and he didn't want that. The way he figured, even if the Invader's plan to conquer Earth _wasn't_ going to be a total failure this time, if he got Zim in a bad enough mood, the Irken might just give it up out of pure frustration.

Despite his own aggravation at the situation, Dib made sure to listen to every word of the explanation, regardless of how incomprehensible it was. So long as he listened, Zim would keep talking – at least, that had been the nature of the pattern so far. Couldn't go wrong now, right?

He wondered vaguely where planet Glanextix was, and exactly what it had to do with Zim trying to conquer Earth, but didn't dare try to ask his enemy to go over it again. He'd already been pushing his luck with the last three times (or was it four?) that he'd managed to get clarification. Though, he still couldn't comprehend the clarification.

Had it been clarification?

Maybe Zim was just trying to confuse him.

"Do you _get it_ now?"

Brought out of his musings, Dib looked up at the Irken sharply, eyes wide. "Huh?"

A shriek of irritation escaped Zim at that simple sound, after which he yelled, right in the boy's face, "Were you even listening?!" Dib nodded immediately, even though he'd more or less zoned out once 'Glanextix' had been mentioned.

Where _was_ that planet?

"Yeah, yeah, recipriversexclusons, total existence failures, Glanextix, yeah, I got it."

"Good!" The Invader stomped off to a nearby console, jabbed some buttons, and turned to regard Dib, proclaiming loudly, "Then if you don't mind, I'm going to destroy your smelly planet now!"

Dib did mind, actually.

He didn't mind so much, though, when – upon its activation – the enormous machine promptly underwent a total existence failure and vanished completely, leaving a whole section of Zim's base to crumple in on itself.

Oh...so _that_ was what it was supposed to do.

* * *

There's a reference (or two) in here. I'll love you if you can guess what it (or they) is (or are). Of course, anyone who's familiar with me and/or my writing should already know the answer. XD


	18. Walk

I've never realized, until writing all these things, just how much fun it is to write for a kind of enemies-but-also-strangely-friends-but-not-really relationship. Now if only someone could properly incorporate that kind of thing into a well-written ZADR...man, that'd be great.

* * *

**WALK**

Zim hated P.E.

Oh, how he hated it.

His Irken body just wasn't _meant_ to handle the horrors humans put themselves through in that class! A trained Invader he was, yes, but to willingly go out on that field and allow aliens nearly twice his size the chance to body-slam him over a stupid ball? That was just crazy!

No, he'd learned his lesson the first time he tried that; it had been a vivid reminder of why Irkens stuck to their PAKs when they needed to fight rather than risking hand-to-hand combat.

Yes, it was a lesson that had been learned well; not only had Torque broken his arm, having landed on it with his full weight, but he'd ended up with a sprained antenna, courtesy of a certain horrible _Dib_.

Oddly enough, it was also courtesy of Dib that he'd found a way to circumvent the awful class.

The two had come to an understanding. Not a major one, mind you, just one to lessen both of their pain. And it wasn't really so much of an understanding as it was a chance to get into fights with each other more often. Nothing too serious – a heated exchange of angry words was often enough to do the trick.

And the trick went something like this...

Before class would begin, they would decide on a topic to argue about – generally involving Dib being insane, or Zim being an alien, or about so-and-so's mother (despite how little sense that made). Then, early on in the class, after changing (Zim doing so in the bathrooms, out of sight), and after exercises, but not before the class had finished choosing teams (Dib would always be the last chosen, right after Zim), the two would begin to argue about their chosen topic.

This generally quite got on their classmates' nerves, as well as on the teacher's, so more often than not they were both sent to run laps on the track. Apparently, the teacher had it in his mind that social ostracism would be a fitting punishment for social outcasts, and that running laps was good enough to scrape by on a passing grade. Eventually it got to the point where he didn't even bother to wait for their ensuing argument anymore, and just sent them off to the track once the beginning exercises were completed.

Dib was fine with the so-called punishment, as he didn't really care about getting a perfect grade in P.E. when the only things his dad cared about were math and science, and Zim was absolutely fine with it, as it meant he could avoid getting pummeled on a daily basis (even if all they were playing that day was ping-pong).

They were fine with sharing the track, too; while they technically weren't supposed to go within thirty meters of each other, neither wanted to risk giving their nemesis time to himself, time that could be used to plot something horrible at the other's expense. So, they usually ended up alongside each other, a few feet apart to discourage tripping, but close enough to hold a conversation (or dispute, depending).

When they realized the teacher never reprimanded them for not obeying the 'thirty meter' rule of their punishment, the boys came to another understanding. A coin was flipped, Dib being the unlucky one as was not uncommon, and the next skool day saw the human out on the track, flatly refusing to run.

Or at least, he _would_ have refused to run had the teacher bothered to say anything about it.

After that, Zim didn't particularly mind P.E. anymore. He had to change into ugly clothes, yes, and had to go out into the extreme temperatures of the horrible planet he was stuck on, but it was a whole forty-five minutes of keeping a close watch on his enemy. And now?

Now, he didn't even have to jog.

* * *

Warning: Do not try this at your school. It probably won't work.

However: If your school is part of the Invader Zim universe, go for it!


	19. Soft

Almost - but not quite! - ZADR.

* * *

**SOFT**

There was little that could be more annoying than the Irken seated on the other side of the couch, who was currently shoving his bare foot into Dib's side in some unclear attempt to...do _something_, Dib really didn't know. All he knew was that it didn't really hurt, and was just kind of obnoxious. "Do you _have_ to do that?" he asked irritably, frowning across the couch at Zim, who snuggled deeper against the cushions, fluffy blankets curled around him.

"Yes," came the simple answer, the Invader continuing the action, unintentionally kicking the teen in the leg with his other foot. He'd actually intended to kick Dib in the side with it, but that worked, too.

Frowning some more when Zim corrected the kick – not hard, again, just annoying – the dark-haired boy pulled off his glasses and set them aside, tugging the second blanket he'd grabbed for himself away from the Irken. Ignoring the ensuing whine, he grumbled, "I don't even know _why_ you insisted on staying here if you were just going to be a brat about it. Don't you have a couch in _your_ base to sleep on?"

Zim stuck his tongue out. "Zim is not here for _sleeping_!" he retorted, almost indignantly.

"Oh. Really." Considering how comfortable the alien seemed to have made himself, Dib found that he was unconvinced, and his expression made this point clear. _Very_ clear.

"Yes. Really," Zim confirmed, pulling the now-single blanket up to his chin. He'd liked having the other blanket, too; cozy warm... "See, I know you're up to something."

"Am I," Dib stated flatly, still not in the least bit convinced, hence the flat tone and lack of question mark.

At that, the Irken glanced about, mouth drawn into a tight line. He seemed to think hard about the not-question, but shrugged it off quickly and just nodded, getting a sigh from his rival.

Finding it a little less aggravating to shrug it off himself, Dib just rolled his eyes and reclined on his side, propping up a couple pillows. "Okay, then, whatever. I'm not going to argue with you about it," he sighed, fumbling around for a moment to turn off the lamp before trying to get comfortable. A tad hard, really, seeing as Zim was taking up as much space as he possibly could, but he wasn't about to go up to his room and leave a psychopathic alien invader unattended in his house. Brow furrowed as a thought came to him, Dib tried tentatively, "Um...good night?"

"Uh-huh." A length of silence. Then... "It's cold."

"That's what you get for trying to steal my blanket." The teen yelped when he felt the cool skin of an alien foot against his shin. "Zim, stop it!"

A determined growl escaped the Irken, who very well would not stop it thank you, and he shoved his remaining foot under the other's blanket to prove his point. "The one you gave me is too small!" he complained, as though that excused him. "I'm cold, and you're not, so stop hogging all the warm!"

Frustrated, Dib snapped back, "I'm _not_ giving you my blanket!" He gave another surprised yelp moments later when Zim unceremoniously squeezed into the space between his back and the couch, somehow managing to tunnel himself under the second blanket at the same time. "And just _what_ are you doing?" Dib asked him, wanting to glare but unable to see, thanks to the lack of glasses and light.

"Taking some of my warm back!" That said, Zim nestled into his little blanket cave, not particularly finding it uncomfortable to be smushed up against his rival and also not particularly caring if it made his rival uncomfortable. No, he didn't care about anything at the moment. Instead, he gave an almost contented sound, mumbled, "Comfy..." and promptly went to sleep, being far too cozy to do anything else.

Dib was silent, staring straight ahead uncertainly for a while, then staring over his shoulder to where the Irken had cuddled up against him. He made a slight face, but didn't say anything, only returning his gaze in front of him, giving a small irritated grumble, and hoping he didn't fall off the couch while he slept.

* * *

My original idea had something to do with Dib being the one to fall asleep, and he ends up drooling on Zim, who figures that Dib's plan is to melt him with his spit. Then I realized that that didn't really have anything to do with the prompt. XD


	20. See

Some other characters get a bit of attention here, but it's for a good reason. Sort of.

* * *

**SEE**

"Don't you think you're taking it a bit too seriously?" The high-pitched girl-voice grated at Zim's concealed antennae, and he turned around mostly to glare at the human rather than to respond to the question. Zita didn't seem impressed by the evil look, and instead motioned over to Dib, who was currently sulking at his desk. "All he did was poke you in the eye."

The disguised Irken snarled at her – no actual words, just a simple frustrated noise – before he snapped, "He deserves it, damaging _Zim's_ amazing optical implant!" He shook his fist to emphasize, not even noticing his slip.

Of course, Zita didn't notice it, either, and at this point, Dib was too absorbed in his own misery to try calling attention to it. "Well, you're okay, though, right?" she asked, expecting that the seemingly human boy would understand why she was asking that particular question. There was, after all, no need for Zim to take it so far.

"Yes, yes, the recovery was simple and painless," the Invader responded blandly, waving off what he deemed a stupid question.

"So...can't you just forgive and forget?"

Zim blinked, tilted his head, and wondered over this phrase for a moment before squinting in something almost like confusion. "Why would I do that?" Zita just sighed and shook her head, giving it up as a lost cause.

She sighed again, this time in exasperation, when Poonchy (Drinker of Hate) dropped into the seat next to Zim, giving the disguised Irken a grin and a thumbs up. "Cool new glasses, man!" he exclaimed, and it wasn't entirely clear if he was mocking him or not.

"Oh, yes, thank you," Zim replied automatically, checking to make sure the tape was holding them on well enough, tone cheerful when he added, "Everything's blurry!"

He duly ignored it when a now relatively blind Dib yelled across the classroom, "You're a jerk, Zim!"

* * *

Ah...classic antics...


	21. Rape

Warning: ...Uh, well, I think the prompt itself is warning enough. Don't think I need to say anything more than that, so...I won't.

* * *

**RAPE**

Zim shuddered on the icy metal, eyes clenched tightly shut and breath labored; choked sobs escaped him every once in a while, try as he might to hold them back, and he desperately wished his PAK could protect him.

"No...No, Dib...don't do this, please..." he whispered, antennae limp – he wanted so badly to feel anger, to lash out at the human who had stepped over a boundary not meant to be breached. Wanted to, but couldn't; all he could feel was the cold weight of terror in the depths of his 'spooch, and the cold weight of the shackles that bound him, left him more or less immobile and spread-eagled on the dissection table.

The Irken could hear the throaty chuckles of his tormentor, somewhere behind him, and he turned his head away from the sound, didn't want to risk opening his eyes and seeing the man. "You don't know what you're doing..."

That was a lie.

They both knew exactly what Dib was doing.

It was a line that should never have been crossed, a total defiling of that which was sacred. As it began, Zim immediately started to scream, thrashing wildly against the cold table; Dib was swift to tighten his restraints to an almost painful degree, stilling him, and to roughly gag him, muffling the panicked sounds. Once more, the Irken desperately wished his PAK could protect him.

It could do nothing, though; all it would do now, as the human took what was his, was immerse his already fractured mind in hurtful memories and images, overflowing it with the distant taunts and jeering of peers and superiors alike. Even the drones he had known were laughing at him, the sounds echoing in his head, setting it to ache.

His gasps became further labored as he struggled fruitlessly for air, eyes flying wide open as though it would chase away everything his traitorous PAK was showing him; seeing Dib couldn't be any worse. The single thought, vague and hazy past all those that came unbidden, dragged another agonized sob from the Irken; it was weak, though, as he couldn't seem to breathe now. The gag came away then, his captor not wanting to jeopardize his subject; a laughable consideration that only served as a further slap to the face.

Dib continued mercilessly, hardly slowed, each stroke leaving Zim quivering and sobbing and begging – something he'd done only once in his life – for him to stop, to reconsider. Cruel laughter was his only reply, stroke after stroke after stroke leaving the Irken with little will to fight. All he could do now was lie there and endure it.

The PAK sparked a bit, getting both of them to flinch, but it only stalled Dib for a moment. Grinning in satisfaction even as Zim quietly whimpered and asked him to stop, the man went on unperturbed, wanting to laugh when parts within the metal pod on the Irken's back shifted uselessly. The deadly spider-legs had been removed, he'd made sure of that; he did laugh when the alien convulsed, the aftermath of a particularly painful memory brought on by his PAK.

It went on for what seemed likes ages, until finally, Dib came to a sudden stop; Zim was screaming hoarsely again, tears flowing unabated as the mental stress came to a breaking point, the one thing he couldn't bear to think of thrown into sharp relief in his mind.

And Dib could see every moment of it.

With that one final stroke of the keys, he'd uncovered the reasons for Zim's arrival on Earth, something the Irken hadn't understood and had never dwelt on until now, until the PAK had forced its memory upon his mind. A heavy weight settling in his stomach, Dib stared with disbelief at the screen of his laptop, then up past the cords connecting it to the alien's life support. In front of him, stretched out limply on the table and sobbing without restraint, Zim refused to look at him, refused to return the gaze; he could understand why. He'd committed a most unspeakable act on a whim, violating the Irken's very existence and laying it bare before him, all because he could.

And now, with the knowledge of what the Tallests had really done, with the understanding of why his enemy was really here, Dib knew there were other reasons Zim wouldn't look at him.

He didn't want to see the guilt that had come over the man's face.

He didn't want to be pitied.

And above all, he didn't want to see the disappointment in Dib's eyes, disappointment at the realization that his alien nemesis, the creature he'd come to see as a dangerous and cunning Invader who had to be stopped at all costs, was nothing more than a joke.

Just like him.

* * *

Hopefully you guys weren't actually expecting the...um...twist? Not sure if I even wrote it well enough for it to be considered a twist. XD Either way, it was pretty difficult to write, mmhmm.

Note: I do not condone rape. I also do not condone invading someone's personal memories. Uh, somehow.


	22. 4:29 PM

I'm surprised at how close to my initial idea this ended up. Much longer than the usual, but overall, pretty pleased with it, yes I am.

* * *

**4:29 PM**

The first time the power flickered on a clear day, no wind to speak of and the temperature not yet chilly enough to demand coats and mufflers, Dib thought it was – perhaps – just a little bit odd. He forgot about it quickly, though, the moment the slight static on the television screen cleared away and the Mysterious Mysteries host's voice rang as clear as always. The second flicker a half hour later was shrugged off just the same; it was likely Professor Membrane, who was home for once and yet again holing himself away in his basement lab, was messing with electricity as he often tended to do.

Perhaps he was trying to zap life into his precious toast again – it wouldn't surprise his son, slumped on the living room couch a floor above him and wishing the TV picture would stop being so jittery.

Eventually, after the third and fourth surges, closer together than their predecessors, and a fifth occasion where the power almost sputtered out entirely, Dib gave it up as a lost cause. Shaking his head in irritation, he grabbed his trenchcoat, checked his pockets for all his usual gear out of sheer force of habit, and headed outside to take a walk. It was early enough, though the steadily darkening winter sky seemed to suggest otherwise. Hands jammed in pockets, the teen shuffled down the sidewalk, destination unknown and thoughts flowing in no specific direction. It was only when his headphones were in place that he noticed that something was truly wrong.

Static crackled in his ears, before cutting out as though nothing had happened to be replaced with the normal programming; snippets of conversation between pilot and air tower, brief reports from military personnel, only listened to in the hopes that they'd catch something up in the atmosphere, spot a rogue blip on their radar. They rarely found anything, and Dib had learned quickly that a certain Voot Cruiser was at fault for the raising of most alarms; his enemy had been becoming more and more lax over the past few months, once even going so far as to fly the vessel in broad daylight.

In the end, no one had noticed, but still, the point remained. Yes, something was terribly wrong, and the Irken knew it – and most likely, had something to do with it.

Eyes narrowed in suspicion behind thick frames when static fizzled the words away, and the teen noticed for the first time that the streetlamps – just recently lit – were flickering slowly, at a steady pace. For a moment, it seemed they would simply go out completely, before suddenly the bulbs brightened, as though it hadn't happened at all. The words returned, Dib catching phrases to match what he now knew to be rather odd occurrences. Nodding to himself, he kept the headphones on only long enough to determine the next near power failure; the second the static made itself known, he nodded again, pulling them from his ears and tucking them away.

The surges were coming more rapidly now, the time between them hardly more than a couple of minutes. Coming to a swift decision, Dib turned on his heel and eased into a jog, heading steadily in a familiar direction into familiar territory. It wasn't long before the strange building loomed before him, but in that time, it seemed that every bit of human technology was beginning to shut itself down; even the battery-powered communicator he kept strapped to his wrist, in case he needed to contact Gaz or his father, refused to acknowledge a press of a button, declined to offer so much as a simple beep, wouldn't even show the time.

And then the lights went out.

It seemed suddenly colder, Dib noticed as he pulled his trenchcoat tighter around him, moving step by hesitant step towards the still brilliantly glowing alien structure. If anything, the eerie light it emitted only seemed stronger, appearing to the teen to be outshining even the quickly fading glow of a sun already hidden by mountains. With the power out, Zim's base stuck out in a way that seemed to scream, 'I'm here – find me', further underlining his recently sloppy attempts at remaining hidden, and more than anything, Dib wanted to know why.

To his surprise, the door to the base was unlocked, as though in wait for him; he considered that for a moment as he slipped inside, and the initial surprise melted away. Of course Zim would be waiting for him, expecting him to burst in and demand to know what he was scheming this time.

When he passed through the living room and kitchen unscathed, and was even permitted into the elevator and down into the depths of the vast, tunnel-like Irken labs, Dib had a nagging hunch that his guess might have been a little bit off. He had this hunch because, for the first time, when he stepped from the elevator and began to wander the metal hallways, his alien nemesis wasn't waiting to greet him with death threats and boasts of his newest plan for world conquest.

Zim was nowhere to be found.

It didn't make sense.

If Zim wasn't here, ranting and raging in his face, what did that mean? Did the Irken even know that he was there in his base, doing what he pleased? More importantly, would he _care_? Judging by Dib's easy access, the security systems were offline – Zim was clearly anticipating _someone's _arrival, knew someone would be looking for him in the depths of his lair...but...why turn off the security programs entirely?

Maybe Dib wasn't who the door had been unlocked for...

Passing panel after panel, all of which ran perfectly despite the energy crisis blanketing the world above, the teen caught something that looked familiar; nothing important, he knew upon closer inspection, but the resemblance was uncanny. Glancing down at his communicator, now dead and never to tell the time again, then back up to the screen with its similar layout, Dib half-heartedly wished he'd taken the liberty to learn the Irken language while he'd had the chance. He mumbled to himself offhandedly that he might try to install another data probe in Zim's computer while he was down here, and, attention diverted from the panel, he wandered off again, now intent on finding the Invader and demanding answers.

Had he taken the liberty to learn the Irken language, he would have known that the display of numbers on the panel didn't exactly correspond to what he thought it was.

And had he shown a bit more interest in the panel, had lingered for more than a few seconds, he would have noticed when the Irken numbers began to flicker, changing steadily from symbol to symbol to symbol.

A countdown.

He found Zim easily enough after that. Dib was almost surprised that it hadn't been harder, that there hadn't been anything to stand in his way. He _was_ surprised, though, by the sheer force of the Irken's gaze when it finally landed on him.

When he first stepped into the room, Zim had been laughing – had started his grating chuckles the moment the doors had slid open. Dib had almost thought that there would be some sort of trap, something that would swing out of nowhere to leave him splattered across the sleek floor, or fall from the ceiling of wires and cables to crush him flat. Nothing had happened, though. It was just Zim, facing away from the door – Dib couldn't even see him, only saw the back of the hovering seat – and cackling with wild glee.

And then the Irken had turned to face him.

And then all mirth swept from Zim's expression, to be replaced with nothing, which turned to confusion, which turned to understanding, and at the end of it all turned to outright fury.

Zim had not been expecting Dib.

And that meant that Dib was not supposed to be here.

Spitting angrily, the Irken gestured wildly, not even able to form the words he needed at first; another thing that had his enemy shocked into his own silence. And then, Zim screeched, "You simple-minded meat-creature! What have you done?! You've ruined _everything_, horrible _worm_! Can you even comprehend just how badly you've-"

"No, I can't!" Dib yelled back, finding his voice the moment the alien began to hurl insults at him. "But I'll get you to spill every detail of it, _Zim_, right before I strap you down on an autopsy table!"

"IDIOT!" Zim howled, yanking on his antennae in frustration; it had to have hurt, but the Invader was in too much of a rage to care, or even notice. "This isn't about you, _Dib_! Stupid, _stupid_ fool, you activated the timer!"

Timer?

Dib only stared stupidly, getting his enemy to pull at his antennae again and shake his head frantically. "It wasn't _meant_ for you!" the Irken snarled harshly, hands leaving his abused feelers to slam into the teen's chest, sending him stumbling backwards. He then buried his face in hands and rambled uselessly to himself in his native tongue, at a loss for what to do, before the computer suddenly spoke.

"**Irken vessels approaching."**

Immediately, both of their attention was captured. Zim looked up, eyes impossibly wide, and Dib glanced at his enemy in alarm, unsure of exactly how to react.

At least, until Zim darted for the main console.

Then, the teen launched himself at the Invader, colliding with him at full force and with all his weight thrown into the tackle; the two went tumbling, sprawling across the metal floor with Dib ending up above the smaller Irken, struggling fruitlessly to keep a hold on his wrists and ending up with three parallel claw marks down one side of his face. In retaliation, he jammed his knee into Zim's abdomen, knocking the wind out of him, before thrusting a fist into his face.

Dazed by the blows, the Irken stilled beneath him, head turned to the side and body trembling as he caught his breath, not unlike his enemy. Then, the moment Dib allowed him room to move, thinking him subdued, Zim scrambled to his feet and dove for the control panel, managing to pound his gloved fist down on a single button before the teen slammed into him again. This time, the human managed to pin his hands in the ensuing scuffle, but it didn't matter now.

A deranged grin on his face, Zim exclaimed victoriously, "Computer! Activate the self destruct sequence! _Now!_" Eyes bugging in shock at the unexpected words, Dib made to cover the Irken's mouth, getting a harsh bite from razor-sharp teeth for the attempt.

Past the teen's shrieks of pain, the computer responded dully, as though it hadn't just received the order it had, **"The ten minutes have not yet elapsed. You insisted on those ten minutes, Master, once the countdown was set in motion. I did a lot of very difficult math to figure all this out for you, so it would all fit together without error. I even suggested removing the countdown's motion-based activation from the equation altogether, as it added elements of improbability, such as whether or not the large-headed boy would find his way in to meddle in your affairs. Which, obviously, he did." **It paused to let this sink in, though its master was currently more immersed in spitting out human blood and coughing raggedly, choking as the liquid burned at his mouth. It then added mildly, **"Anyway, I **_**did**_** precisely calculate that your execution squad would arrive at half past the hour."**

"Irrelevant! All of it!" Zim snapped hoarsely, a few wisps of smoke escaping his seared lips and gums; atop him, Dib stared numbly at his mangled hand, suddenly unaware of everything else. His gaze lifted upwards, unfocused, uncomprehending, when the alien's harsh words continued, antennae flattened and ruby eyes wide and filled with crazed determination. "They're close enough. One minute won't matter. _Zim still wins._" The Irken started to cackle madly again, the sound further grating from the burns left by the teen's blood, before he shrieked one final thing. "DO IT!"

And every bit of energy that had been stolen from the planet within the past few hours burst forth when the computer obeyed.

Hundreds of miles away, floating silently in space and hidden by the moon, the Invader's orbital base continued to monitor the planet it revolved around, recording on and on and on. It caught every moment on video, never-ending, monitoring and documenting ceaselessly as it was meant to do.

It dutifully recorded the Elite ships as they burned away with the atmosphere.

It dutifully recorded as the atmosphere boiled and evaporated.

It dutifully recorded as the Earth fizzled away to nothing beneath it.

And even still, it recorded on...

* * *

I guess Zim's logic here is something along the lines of, 'If you can't beat them, just blow everything up - including yourself!' Had he been in his right mind, he probably would have tried to save himself, but...I tried to hint at the fact that he really _wasn't _in his right mind.

Not that his mind is right in the first place, but...still.


	23. Citric Acid

I'm not really sure what this is supposed to be, but considering who wrote it, it's plausible that it hints at ZADR.

* * *

**CITRIC ACID**

Rubbing at one antennae in boredom, Zim stared dully across the kitchen table at the human seated there, glass in one hand as his other subconsciously stirred his oatmeal. A heavy silence hung around them; it was almost unbearable. As though sensing the Irken's gaze, Dib glanced up at him. "What's wrong now?" he asked, tone almost weary.

With a shake of his head, Zim averted his eyes, focusing instead on the glass once the man had set it down. Frowning at the orange liquid, he mumbled something that sounded quite similar to gibberish, getting an eyeroll from Dib. The alien only spoke his native tongue when he was purposefully trying to be difficult.

Of course, he didn't know just yet that Dib could understand at least half of what he'd said.

Preferring to keep the Irken guessing, or (better yet) assuming he had amazing mind-reading abilities, he suggested mildly, "If you hate being here so much, I'm not going to stop you from leaving." He hid the beginnings of an amused grin by taking a sip of his juice when Zim looked up at him in surprise, ruby eyes wide and antennae perked as high as they would go.

Squirming uncomfortably as Dib watched him levelly over the rim of his glass, the alien stumbled over his words. "Zim needs another week," he managed finally, avoiding looking at the dark-haired man.

"You said that last week. And the week before that. ...Oh, and the week before that, too," Dib responded blandly after another sip of his drink, chin in hand and eyes closed as he savored the refreshing tangy flavor. He didn't need to see to know that Zim was still fidgeting, feeling awkward in this situation.

Finally, the Irken just slammed a fist on the table and bit out irritably, "No, I didn't. You're lying!" And so Zim was resorting to his old comebacks, just because he knew Dib was right.

Setting the glass aside, the man gave an unconcerned shrug, focusing then on his oatmeal; he wasn't going to argue with Zim. Not over this, at least. He didn't need to. Instead, he waited for the alien to calm, patiently stirring his breakfast and poking at the little slices of strawberry he'd put in it beforehand, finding that he wasn't particularly hungry anymore. Once Zim had stopped glaring at him, he spoke. "I guess it's partly my fault you're upset over being here... I mean, I can see how it would make you uncomfortable, given our...um...history together."

An exasperated scoff escaped the alien, but there was otherwise no response.

Unabated, Dib pressed on. "But, you know, Zim...just because I said you could stay here doesn't mean I expected you to act grateful or anything." Silently, the Irken watched him, and had it not been for the antennae lowering in thought, it would have seemed that Zim hadn't been paying attention. Now, though, Dib knew he'd hit the mark dead-on, uncovered the basis for his not-quite-enemy's recent behavior, and he added confidently, "Nothing's changed between us. Whatever your reasons for staying here, whether if it's to keep an eye on what I'm up to or if...maybe...you're just here because you want to be, then...well, it's fine. And I'm fine with it. ...Okay?"

For a few moments, Zim only stared down at the table, brow furrowed as his fingers tapped nervously on the wooden surface. Then, he gave a very small nod, being very careful to look anywhere but at Dib.

"So do you think you'll still hate being here?"

A very tiny shake of the Irken's head told him no.

Satisfied, and smiling now, Dib leaned back in his chair. Another silence fell over them, but this time it seemed almost companionable. He should have tried talking with Zim about this earlier, he thought. It had been a good talk, a one-sided one, sure, but good for both of them. Feeling thoroughly relieved, as though a weight had been suddenly removed from his shoulders, Dib gave a contented sigh, relaxed, and drained his glass.

* * *

Decide for yourself exactly why they're living together. That's the fun part!


	24. Still

Nothing to say here.

* * *

**STILL**

"You're in my spying spot."

A familiar green face obscured his view, the close proximity blurring the alien features, and Dib lowered the binoculars to properly stare up at his rival. Laying flat on his back in the grass, the teen only frowned for a while before replying, "Your spying spot, huh? Hate to disappoint you, Zim, but this is my stargazing spot."

Plopping down next to him and returning the frown with his own, Zim huffed, "Since when?"

"Since always." With the Irken no longer hovering directly over him, the binoculars went back into place as Dib scanned the night sky. He heard the rustle of grass beside him, and guessed that Zim had stretched out on his back as well, or something close, at least. The PAK must get in the way a lot, he thought offhandedly. "Since when was this your spying spot?"

Glancing at Zim revealed that the alien had only stretched out his legs; he'd propped himself up with his hands, and was still looking rather grumpy at finding his nemesis in his spot.

Dib could understand why. It _was _a nice spot, after all. The Invader didn't even need his disguise here, as the grassy hill was at the farthest reaches of the suburbs and was very rarely visited, as there wasn't much there to visit anyway. Unless, of course, you _really_ liked grass.

Or, in Dib's case, stargazing.

Narrowing his eyes, Zim looked away and up at the sky, scowling as though it was mocking him. He then answered, tone surprisingly mild given his apparent mood, "Since Zim arrived. It's how I found out about your telescope."

"Ah."

As though annoyed that the simple, unconcerned sound was all he'd gotten, the Irken baited, "Pretty stupid to be out here when you could be using that thing rather than this ugly...whatever-it-is, you know." He poked at the binoculars, giving a haughty chuckle.

Dib lowered the binoculars again to fix Zim with an unimpressed stare. "There's too much light pollution that close to the city. And anyway, I happen to like it here. You can keep on wasting your time trying to bug me into leaving all you want, but trust me, it's not going to happen," he informed the alien flatly.

For a moment, Zim only stared back at him. Then, a very disappointed grumble escaped him and he flopped down onto his back, quickly rolling over onto his belly when the PAK wouldn't let him lie flat; sometimes that thing really got in the way. Resting his chin in his hands, the Irken glanced over at his rival, opened his mouth to say something, then in a shocking turn of events thought better of it and shut it again. Instead, the only thing that came out was an annoyed-sounding huff, before he looked up at the star-speckled sky once again, various musings occupying his mind and keeping him silent.

Next to him, Dib rolled onto his stomach as well, binoculars now focused on a different portion of the expanse above them. Guessing from the length of quiet that Zim was lost in his thoughts, he didn't speak, not wanting to disturb the peace that had fallen upon the hill once more. It actually wasn't that bad sharing his spot, even if it was with the alien Invader he'd been hunting for the past few years.

The minutes dragged on one by one at first, both subconsciously ill at ease having their rival next to them. Then, when nearly a full half hour had gone by with neither having acted out against the other, it was clear that they'd reached an agreement, however non-verbally, and the two boys relaxed, quietly going about their own business.

At some point, Zim sat back up and started fiddling with a piece of foreign tech, but Dib wasn't particularly worried because from what he could tell, all the Irken was doing was trying to figure out exactly where GIR went when he wasn't at the base (mostly taco stands and dance clubs, it seemed). Meanwhile, Zim wasn't at all worried about what Dib was up to, because it wasn't like the human would ever be able to locate Irk's position with such a flimsy, primitive tool.

Eventually, once the Irken had finished his so-called spying, the tension that usually existed between the two had mellowed enough for them to sit together in a comfortable silence, just staring up at the stars. Zim didn't even mind when Dib asked him where Irk was among all of them.

He didn't, of course, tell him exactly where it was.

He did, however, make a very vague motion in what might have been its general direction.

* * *

Fun - actually, boring - fact: I couldn't think of what to write for this prompt until I used a thesaurus. 8\


	25. Iron

Another longer one, as I was just having way too much fun with it.

* * *

**IRON**

Dib had been minding his own business.

He'd been perfectly content, for once in a long while.

He'd been playing Gaz's newest video game, which she'd grudgingly allowed him access to. He knew for a fact, of course, that she was secretly delighted by his increasing interest in her hobby, as it meant she'd no longer have to drag random strangers home from the arcade to play against and could instead just virtually wail on her brother. This, of course, led to a much more pleasant relationship between the two of them. Beating Dib up had been one of Gaz's top favorite things to do, but that came second to video games, and now that she could just beat Dib up in a video game, why bother wasting energy to do it in real life?

To make things even better, Dib hadn't even been called 'crazy' by his own father in nearly three weeks! Professor Membrane still found it disappointing that his son was so devoted to the paranormal, but what the teen _had _offered to the real scientific community so far had been simply amazing! It was certainly progress, and progress of any kind was good! Not to mention Dib's amazing grades – he was maintaining a 6.7 GPA, and that wasn't even supposed to be possible!

But to top it all off, a certain alien Invader had been stuck on his newest plan for world conquest for the past month; a whole month, with Earth safe! Dib hardly even cared that he hadn't managed to expose his nemesis to the world!

Of course, to balance all the more pleasant things that had been happening, something terrible had to happen as well.

Which brings it all full circle.

Dib was minding his own business. He was content. He was playing video games.

And then, his lap was covered in laundry.

Baffled, he stared up to find the source of his current misery. Zim, unsurprisingly. The Irken had a clothes hamper tucked under one arm, and a bundle of _something_ in the other. Dib didn't like to think about what that bundle contained, as it was the _true_ source of his misery. If that bundle hadn't been thrust upon the two unwitting boys, Zim wouldn't be in his house, clothes hamper under one arm, and Dib wouldn't currently have a lapful of laundry.

"You _could_ help out for once, you know," Zim informed him imperiously, eyes narrowed in disdain as he scowled down at him.

Dib rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the video game, only to have a sock shoved in his face; onscreen, the elven-eared hero dressed in forest green took a metal fist to his gut and died pathetically, fairy whizzing around his corpse obnoxiously. A sigh escaped the teen, and he dutifully turned off the game, not even bothering to save. "Fine, whatever," he grumbled, getting to his feet.

Glaring at the clothes as they fell from Dib's lap and onto the floor, Zim scolded, "Pick those up first! What do you think Zim to be, your _maid_?!" Eyeing the apron the disguised Irken had taken to wearing, one brow raised, Dib was sorely tempted to say yes.

Even if he had said it, Zim wouldn't have noticed, as the something in the bundle took that moment to begin producing a ghastly wail, and the alien grimaced and hurried away. As he leaned to pick up the dropped laundry, mumbling random complaints to himself, Dib heard some shuffling from another room, and was thankful when the shrieking cries ceased. He was not so thankful when the Invader reappeared, muttering something along the lines of, "Must be broken. Why else does it need so many diapers?"

The clothes hamper was plopped onto the couch then, Zim making an annoyed gesture between it and the laundry Dib was holding, apparently suggesting he hurry up. "Is this really necessary?" the teen asked, making a face as he dropped the clothes into the plastic bin.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Zim responded blandly, subconsciously patting the bundled bringer of torture with his free hand. "But stop dawdling! I'll have to de-wrinkle your stupid clothes again now that you've dropped them all over the floor."

"You're the one who threw them on me!" Dib protested, though it was dutifully waved off.

Unimpressed look on his face, the Irken leaned to pluck a pair of Dib's boxer shorts from between the couch cushions, holding it between thumb and forefinger and examining the garment for a moment before shaking his head and dropping it into the basket. Ignoring the embarrassed glare the teen shot at him, he stated simply, "Foodening in exactly ten minutes. I expect your hands to be disinfected and for plates to be on the table by then!" That said, he adjusted his bundle and marched off to the kitchen.

"It better not be waffles again!" Dib yelled after him, dumping the rest of his clothes into the hamper with little care; he hadn't been allowed to do his own laundry recently anyway, seeing as Zim didn't believe he could properly press and fold a shirt.

After grumpily scrubbing his hands – thoroughly, as Zim had gone so far as to check them for germs the last couple of times – the teen shuffled into the kitchen and grudgingly began to set the table, mentally cursing when he caught the smell of a certain breakfast food that he was _really_ getting tired of. An annoyed growl escaped him when the once-bundled horror, now placed in its own special little chair, began to emit awful bawling sounds again.

Dib had to scramble out of the way when the Irken darted over to it, leaning over it and humming curiously. Then, Zim nodded, turned to regard the teen, and snapped, "The dinner begins early! SIT! The crying larva is hungry!" Not wanting to ignite Zim's ire further, Dib sat.

He groaned when his plate was filled with waffles and some unidentifiable _something_ that the alien had probably concocted on the spot just to torment him, but wisely said nothing, only poking at the mysterious whatever irritably with his fork. Then, after a very hesitant taste, where he discovered that it actually wasn't too bad but he really didn't want to risk taking another bite, he spoke up flatly, "Really, Zim, I think you're taking this _way_ too far."

The Invader looked up at him, eyes narrowed, as he shoved a spoonful of _stuff_ into the mouth of their own personal Hell. "Oh? Really?" he prompted.

"Yes, really!" Dib insisted.

"How so?"

"You're doing my laundry, cooking me dinner, and cleaning my house! And you're wearing an _apron_, for God's sake!" he exclaimed, motioning at the offending garment in emphasis.

Zim stared at him, not saying anything; Dib had to hold back a scowl when, rather than actually responding, the alien only shoved another spoonful of food into their ultimate torment's mouth.

Finally, when Zim's only actual reply was a sullen 'I like the apron – it's purple', Dib threw his hands up in frustration. "Yes! Your apron is purple! That's exactly what I'm getting at! Oh, wait! _No it isn't_!" he shrieked, jabbing one of his waffles with his fork angrily. "What I'm _getting at _is that this is just a stupid _project_, Zim! It's hardly even worth five percent of our grade! This is insane! You shouldn't even _be_ in my house, let alone doing my laundry!"

The object of torment began to wail again, bringing Zim to yell back at him, "Silence, you smelly fool, you're scaring the baby!"

"IT'S NOT A REAL BABY! NOW GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!"

* * *

Ah, the joys of...parenting...?


	26. Two Guns

Couldn't think of much for this particular prompt. It was either an arcade game, or one other something. The one other something won.

* * *

**TWO GUNS**

"This is unfair!"

Pushing his glasses up a little and squeezing the bridge of his nose in exasperation, Dib replied, "Zim, it's a _duel_. A duel is _anything_ but unfair. I mean, think about it – you won't be the only one at risk."

A distrusting glare focused on the Earth weapon in his hand, Zim shook his head stubbornly. "Zim shouldn't be at risk at all!" he snapped, holding the pistol out at arm's length as though it was covered in filth.

"It doesn't work like that, and you know it," Dib huffed with a roll of his eyes, adjusting his glasses and examining the gun in his own hand. He was sorely tempted to fire it then and there, put a stop to the never-ending cycle that had become his life. He didn't, though; he was more honorable than that. More importantly, if Zim could control the urge to just shoot his enemy and be done with it, then so could Dib.

"Ehn?"

"Never mind. Let's just get this over with."

A glance between the weapon in his hand, Dib, and the pistol that Dib held, before finally Zim let out a grating sigh and nodded. He knew it was fair – one bullet per gun, one gun for each, ten steps, one shot, and at the end of it all, one winner – he just didn't like the thought of possibly losing this final confrontation.

All Zim would gain from his enemy's death was one less obstacle, one less thing to keep him from taking Earth for the Irken Empire; he was just trying to do his job. Truly, Dib stood to gain the most from this, the safety of his planet and the body of an alien, the proof he'd struggled for long and hard. He'd be assured lifelong glory and respect, while if Zim succeeded...a standing ovation, maybe. A pat on the back, a 'good work, soldier', perhaps a medal or a little trophy. Then, he would be summarily shipped out to the next planet, and start it all over again. Such was the nature of his Empire.

With an iron grip on the handle of the primitive weapon, Zim glared down at it, hardly even noticing when the other boy's back pressed against the curved metal of his PAK. He shouldn't have agreed to this.

Dib, meanwhile, was having his own second thoughts. Trembling just slightly, pistol clenched tightly in his hand, there seemed an infinite amount of ways this could go wrong. The number one thing, of course, was the possibility of his own death. The second thing was whether or not he could really live with killing another person, especially – which surprised him – if that person was Zim. He'd practically grown up with the Irken...

As the paces began, time seeming to drag by, Dib swallowed thickly before something came to him, easing the tension somewhat.

Didn't Zim have terrible aim?

When the tenth step came, and he whipped around with his pistol at the ready, another thought came unbidden, just as he pulled the trigger.

Would a simple, primitive weapon be enough to kill Zim?

When it was over, Dib stood as the victor, and found himself to be relieved by more than just one of the answers to those questions.

Yes, Zim had terrible aim.

And no, a simple bullet was not enough to kill him.

* * *

...Happy ending?


	27. Drop

Classic antics...with a twist! (Kind of.)

* * *

**DROP**

"EVERYBODY DOWN!"

Only a fool would ignore that call. Obeying immediately, Dib ducked his head, falling to hands and knees and ensuring his helmet stayed in place. The one lock of hair that typically defied physics drooped over his forehead, layered with mud and grime, and he didn't bother to brush it out of his face, more focused on crawling to a safer spot.

The concept of 'safe', of course, was relative.

Nearby, dirt and rocks went flying, smoke blasting up into the air and the ground trembling from the force of the explosion. Almost losing his balance and landing face-first in the sludge of the trench, Dib hurried onward, not even grimacing when a couple of chunks of earth bounced off his helmet. Spotting a familiar face, he pushed himself back up to his feet, but kept himself hunched low to the ground as he went.

When he sank down next to the other soldier, exhausted, he barely heard his words. "Not so easy, is it?" He was about to respond when the roar of a general's order was heard, and next to him, Zim scrambled up to glance over the lip of the trench, take aim, and fire off a couple shots before sliding back down, PAK to the dirt wall. The disguised Irken then grinned at Dib. "Primitive things, really," he snickered, nodding down to the rifle he held. "But they do the trick well enough, no?"

"Sure," Dib agreed wearily, just to pacify the other. "Remind me...how'd you talk me into this?"

Zim opened his mouth to reply, then hunched down, arms over his head protectively – he'd lost his helmet at some point – when another order came. Dib hastily did the same, just as a series of blasts rocked the area; the sound left him with an insistent ringing in his ears, and he grimaced and rubbed at his head gingerly. He blinked when Zim finally spoke, the words sounding somewhat muffled. "You wanted better information, yes?"

Groaning and burying his face in his hands, Dib grumbled back, "Yeah, but I wasn't expecting _this_." Almost pleadingly, he looked up at Zim. "You can get us back home, right?"

"Of course," the Irken huffed. "But not right now. This is actually kind of fun!" A weird, and admittedly rather disturbing, smile stretched across his face, Zim motioned to the weapon strapped across Dib's back. "Bet you can't beat my record," he chuckled imperiously as, at the general's call, he clambered up the trench wall.

Shaking his head, Dib only sat there in the mud, mentally berating himself before he quickly took to mentally beating Zim over the head with a large brick, which was pretty funny, if not entirely satisfying. He jumped in shock when, a few moments later, the Irken landed facefirst with a splat next to him and didn't move. Nerves already thoroughly shot, Dib let out a horrified shout and was about to scramble away when Zim pushed himself back up, apparently perfectly okay from the way he was grinning.

"Got another five!" he crowed, not even caring that he was now covered from head to toe in filth. "Beat that!"

"I don't want to," Dib replied pathetically. "I just want to go home."

Zim let out an exaggerated groan, wiping mud from his face, before he drawled flatly, "So this is the thanks I get for helping you with your history homework..."

Ducking down, hands covering his ears when a bomb detonated close by, Dib yelled back, "Yeah, well you didn't tell me you'd be dragging me back into World War One!"

* * *

Remember, kids, time travel _is_ theoretically possible!

Also, no, Zim's aim has not improved any since the last prompt; he just fires off at whatever moves and possibly gets lucky, see, or lies about how many people he actually hits. :D

(Uh-oh; I better start getting to work on more prompts if I want to keep updating about every day! I've only got ten more left! XD)


	28. Dirt

I am uncreative and can't think of anything to say, so...on to the prompt!

* * *

**DIRT**

Arms behind his back and his posture straight, Zim examined their new surroundings with a thoroughly disgruntled expression. It was sickening, this place; junk piled in differing amounts, from mounds to mountains, and a putrid greenish yellow sky stretched above, lending a special sort of glow to everything.

It was the glow of absolute _filth_.

Zim hated this place already.

He glanced back to his Voot Cruiser, which Dib was slowly dragging himself out of; he was pretty woozy from their rough landing, but still retained that annoying quality of excitement no matter what hellhole of a planet they landed on. After the boy had gotten over the initial wave of stench – Zim had been very careful to look away when he started to wretch, not wanting to chance a glimpse of alien vomit – he'd stumbled over to stand by the Irken.

"It's amazing," Dib managed, one hand plugging his nose. He still looked a bit sick.

"It's _disgusting_," Zim corrected, scowling. How could a planetwide landfill be amazing? Amazing was a word used to describe _Zim_ – he wouldn't share the term with this ugly place! Absolutely not!

With a little shrug, the boy only continued to look around with interest; his alien companion was hard-pressed to not simply abandon him here. Seriously, who could be interested in this?

All the _germs_...

Eyes bugging a bit at the thought, Zim glanced around wildly for a moment, backing up towards the Voot Cruiser with the intent of grabbing his cleaning spray. He quickly realized that it was a stupid idea. Scrubbing down his base had been one thing – scrubbing down an entire planet was a different matter entirely. Trembling slightly out of germ-induced paranoia, Zim decided that he was very annoyed with the turn of events and quietly mocked Dib's earlier words. "Doo dee doo, it's my day of birthing, I should get to choose our coordinates, hurdey hurr, I'm a stupid human, durrrr..."

"I heard that!"

Cursing to himself in Irken, Zim glared back at the boy before scoffing and heading over to his ship, leaning against it with arms crossed as he debated whether or not he should grab his cleaning spray anyway, just to keep himself safe from the filthy filthiness. Eventually, his paranoia won out, and he stood there for the following half hour just spritzing germ spray at the ground around him while Dib explored the area (and wondered exactly what the heck Zim was doing).

By the time Dib finally tired of the place, a length of time that could have really been much shorter, Zim had come to a conclusion.

He now understood _exactly_ why Tak had hated this planet so much.

* * *

This has been 'The Super Happy Fun Space Adventure Times of Zim and Dib'! Tune in next time! ...Or something!


	29. Young

Another long one. It's also m-preg, but it's **NOT** the fun and/or romantic kind. :D

Oh, yes. I should say now that I purposely avoided explaining exactly _how_ alien hybrid m-preg is possible for two very good reasons. One, I have absolutely no freaking clue and it most likely isn't possible, and two...I'm really really lazy.

* * *

**YOUNG**

Today was, quite possibly, the worst day in Dib's life.

It wasn't because he'd been locked up in the Crazy House for Boys again, oh no, that would be infinitely preferable to the nasty surprise fate had prepared for him this time.

It wasn't because Zim had finally concocted a foolproof plan to conquer the Earth, and was now the supreme ruler of all humans – no! Even _that_ would be delightful in comparison!

Dib wouldn't even mind it all that much if, somehow, the current situation would go away forever and be replaced with a room with a giant moose! _That_, he could handle!

This, though. _This_ just blew his mind.

Seated in the dining chair across from him, after months of not showing himself, Zim glared – it was a glare that promised death, very painful death, which at this point Dib really wouldn't mind. Might be nice right about now. Even if the glare promised that the death would be very slow and drawn out and involve many unnecessary tortures.

Weakly, when his brain had managed to just about wrap itself around the situation (it couldn't, however, accept the situation fully), Dib asked, "How is this possible?"

"You tampered with my medical equipment, that's how!" Zim spat, slamming a fist against the table and leaving a small crack in the wood; it normally wouldn't have been possible, but the Irken was terribly angry right now, more so than he'd been in...well, ever. "Touching it with your stupid touchy fingers - your genetic filth got all over _everything_!"

"B...but," Dib stuttered pathetically. "How...?"

An enraged snarl escaped the alien, and he screeched, "I _use_ that equipment! Every week – _every! week! – _to ensure your _disgusting_ planet and the _disgusting_ things on it haven't infected my superior body with its...nrgh..._disgustingness_! And Zim uses it for good reason!" He then gestured violently towards his bloated belly. "It's to keep things like _this_ from happening! And then _you_, you stupid smelly pig-fool, you go and-"

"This doesn't make any sense!" the teen wailed then, hands sliding under his glasses so he could cover his eyes; he was too preoccupied with his current torment to care when the lenses slipped off and clattered onto the table. "Genetics just don't work like this, it's not natural!"

"You and your dumb _human_ way of seeing things, of course _you_ wouldn't get it!" Zim scoffed, glaring with all his might now. "No matter! What's done is done! Surely Zim will be able to find something beneficial in this, seeing as I'm _amazing_ and all. And _you_, Dib-stink..." The Irken paused to think for a moment, then, which would have brought his enemy even more worry had he been able to see it, his look of hatred faded into an almost amused smirk. "I can see this is punishment enough on its own. Therefore, Zim will be gracious and spare your life."

Oh, _no_... Dib wanted to groan, or, better yet, slam his head against a wall; of _course_ Zim had to decide something like _that_...

"In fact, I believe you may be of some use in the smeets' development."

This had the teen's head shooting back up in shock, and he stared at the alien in disbelief. Forget his initial thought of how terrible the situation was – whatever Zim had schemed up just now had to be even _worse_. Although he knew he'd regret it, Dib managed nervously, "Uh...how so?"

Zim grinned at that, the kind of grin that the Irken could rarely pull off unless he wasn't actually trying, the kind of grin that made his enemy want to run screaming for the hills; and Dib, who was close enough to him to recognize the expression even without his glasses, really _did_ want to. Running away and avoiding this whole thing sounded _very_ nice, no doubt about it. Zim then replied, in a tone far too pleasant to be natural, "Obviously, Zim will require a perfect specimen to use as an example for the smeets. You have all the defining traits, after all."

Now Dib was _really_ worried. Why was he being complemented? That couldn't be good!

And then Zim finished, with a cheery smile on his face, "All the traits my smeets will _avoid at all costs_, lest they develop into _absolute failures_."

Immediately, the teen planted his face against the table, feeling quite like he'd enjoy dying right about now. Somehow the situation that he'd already thought was the worst thing that could possibly happen to him was getting worse and worse by the minute!

At least the Irken was leaving now, though slowly, rather impeded by his swollen belly. "Oh, yes!" Zim realized something with a snap of his fingers. "Seeing as they will not have the necessary PAKs to divert such nasty bodily functions, and will most unfortunately share a part of _your_ ugly heritage, it will be left to you, Dib-thing, to complete all changing of diapers."

"WHAT?!" Dib exclaimed, sitting up sharply; he scrambled to reclaim his glasses so he could properly glare at his enemy. "Why me?! That's not fair!"

"It's perfectly fair!" Zim shrieked back at him, gloved fists tightly clenched. "ZIM is the one who must carry these abominations! How would _you_ like it, huh?! Would _you_ like puking up your delicious snacks?!"

"If it's that bad, then why don't you just get rid of them and save us both the trouble?!"

The alien stopped short at that, eyes wide. Then, after a moment in which he seemed to think about it, a nasty grin spread across his face. "Abominations or not, they will be acceptable enough to serve under Zim's amazing self as evil little minions – ironic, really, that _you_, Dib-smell, helped to spawn them. It will make it that much sweeter when they've squashed Earth's resistance to nothing for me, leaving it ripe for _Zim_ to conquer!" He laughed lightly, suddenly finding himself in a positively delightful mood thanks to the brilliant idea, and he even went so far as to pat Dib on the head. "It's funny, really. Zim was very angry with you before, but now...I actually would like to thank you!"

Dib only stared at him, horrified, so much so that he didn't even flinch at the unexpected pat. It was all getting worse, by the second now; it was like everything had just spiraled down the drain and right into the sewers of life. That was the end all, wasn't it? Rock bottom. _Nothing_ could possibly happen to add any more negativity at this point.

He was wrong, of course, when Zim cooed in the most derisively sweet tone he could muster, "Thank you, smeet-fatherer, for ensuring the fate of your filthy planet! I look forward to teaching our offspring each and every way you fail at life and how they can avoid the same miserable existence. Oh! And I especially look forward to watching you change smelly diapers!" His newfound diabolic glee reaching a boiling point, he went even further than the pat to the head and planted a quick little kiss on the teen's cheek, a demented giggle escaping him at the mocking gesture.

It only served to heap yet more misery on the piles already accumulating in droves throughout Dib's existence, and the teen only stared up at Zim hopelessly, not sure how to react to it all. It was likely that it wasn't _actually_ the end of the world, but it really felt like it right now. It really did. And it really sucked.

His aim of tormenting his enemy further accomplished, Zim straightened up as much as his extended stomach would allow, gave a taunting little wave and matching smile, before sauntering out of the kitchen, humming a cheery little tune to himself. To him, everything seemed to have gone rather nicely. He even felt he could handle this unexpected pregnancy quite well now! Which reminded him...

As Dib slumped in his own chair, absolutely miserable and knowing that now – _now_, it couldn't get any worse, Zim called back to him as he stepped out the front door, "I expect you to be at my base for the birth! OR ELSE!" He then promptly slammed the door shut, before Dib could get a single word in.

...Huh. What do you know?

It _could_ get worse.

* * *

Poor, poor Dib. I guess that's what you get for tampering with alien equipment. ...Wow, that kind of sounded wrong. ...Oh, well! 8D


	30. Preservatives

I must have written this one to depress myself or something.

* * *

**PRESERVATIVES**

The second time the Meekrob showed up at his house, offering him powers he'd never before dreamed of, Dib had been suspicious. He allowed the bestowal, was surprised that it didn't hurt the way it had the first time, when it had been nothing more than an immense and well-planned illusion, but didn't get his hopes up, didn't really mean it when he thanked the two energy beings. He wasn't surprised that he could do things normal people couldn't, but he didn't flaunt it, didn't dare to fall into whatever trap Zim had set out for him.

He went to school like he usually did, to be treated the way he normally was. He was a little bit unnerved when Zim didn't act any different than was typical for a psychopathic Invader, but refused to dwell on it, and even took to avoiding his enemy when he could get away with it. It was kind of interesting, really, how difficult avoiding Zim really was, and not for his lack of trying; the Irken didn't like being ignored and would often seek Dib out to rant about his newest plans and demand that the boy do something about it.

Though it was admittedly funny at first, having Zim hunting _him_ down rather than the other way around, and for _attention_ no less, Dib quickly tired of it. And when he did, he snapped in the alien's face, told him he wasn't falling for any of it, and stormed off to attend to his own business. He'd been neglecting Bigfoot and the nosferatu next door for too long, and if Zim wasn't actually going to try taking over Earth without an enemy to fight, then so be it. Seemed like Earth was perfectly safe, then.

Not that it wouldn't have been, anyway – this was just another stupid illusionary world. Dib wasn't even sure why it was necessary. It wasn't like he'd been doing anything to arouse Zim's suspicion lately, and he most certainly hadn't thrown any more muffins at his head, so what warranted the reuse of the idea? He tried not to think about it too hard, and continued to ignore the fact that he could do anything he wanted with the Meekrob's gift; it wasn't like it made any difference in the long run.

And then came a shocking turn, something Dib hadn't been expecting.

Someone else captured Zim first.

The Irken had been being careless, it seemed, though Dib never really heard the full story of how it happened. He didn't really care to, in fact. He just shrugged it off and went about his life, deciding he didn't care if it was real or not. Things got better after that; he wasn't laughed at, but unlike the original illusion, he wasn't glorified like some sort of god. Not that he minded, as that had gotten pretty old the first time around.

The years went on, Dib feeling as though they had gone by in a flash as he held his high school diploma in hand, standing by a proudly smiling Professor Membrane and a still surly Gaz as pictures were taken. And then, he was in the Membrane labs, a college graduate with all the certifications he would ever need to work alongside his father; he didn't love science, really, but he was left with enough spare time to pursue the paranormal, and that was honestly good enough for him.

Later, he learned that working with his father gave him the clearance he needed to see Zim again.

He passed on the opportunity the first time it was offered, nearly twelve years after the alien's initial capture. Eight years after that, the chance came again, and this time, on a whim, he accepted. It would be interesting to see his old arch nemesis, he figured as he was led into the depths of Area 61.

Dib remembered the first illusion where he had met Zim again, had been met with threats and a ceaselessly haughty demeanor. He chuckled to himself at the thought, as the scientist who had been leading him waved him onwards, towards an immense metal door, which opened smoothly to admit him.

He was expecting exactly what he'd seen once before, what seemed like so long ago – the same wires and cords obscuring parts of the Irken's body, the tube of fluid, the vast expanse of machinery. That much, in fact, was the same, though it had gone a few steps further.

There wasn't much left of the Invader, the scientists offering no mercy once they'd gotten hold of him. From the waist down, there remained nothing but innumerable coils of metal, and one arm was gone to make way for a thick cable, the arm that was left drooping low enough to brush the bottom of his containment. The troublesome PAK was gone, too, the only thing keeping Zim alive being the thousands of cords which replaced it, feeding electricity into his body and forcing it to continue running. The green skin was bared, and marred to completion by scars leftover from experiments long since past, the largest being the telltale cross of a vivisection across the entirety of his torso.

None of it surprised Dib in the least. It was all, with some exceptions here and there, more or less exactly the same as what he'd experienced before, and as he ambled further into the room, he braced himself for the coming taunts and ranting.

What he was met with, however, was the last thing he'd been expecting.

Zim was looking in his direction with his remaining eye, the other half of his face engulfed in cables and thin wires, but his stare was unfocused, hollow. As Dib stepped closer to the tiny tube, filled with some pinkish fluid he couldn't identify, he could see nothing in the alien's expression to hint that Zim knew he was there. He couldn't find, either, anything that resembled what he'd known of his enemy; there was nothing left in the Irken's gaze but deep, crushing despair.

It was then that Dib realized, with a horrid, sinking feeling in his chest, that everything he'd been living so far was real.

_This_ was real.

He realized, too, with a jolt that had him choking back a quiet sob as the full impact of everything hit him all at once, that it had been years since the Irken's capture.

Twenty years.

Zim had been here for twenty years.

Invader or not, he didn't deserve this. Who knew how long he could be kept alive down here, so long as his life support remained intact... Hands trembling against the icy glass, Dib just barely heard the light sound near his waist, and he glanced down hesitantly to find a slip of paper dispensing itself from the machine the tube had been built into. It grew longer and longer, so similar to his illusion but now infinitely different, and with a bitter smile, he let a portion of the Meekrob power manifest. He couldn't do much with it, unlike before where he'd trained himself to use it to its full potential; he brought it forth now simply to lift the end of the tape to his hand so he could see what it was.

Words were printed on it; some nonsensical, some not. The first few feet of tape were filled with incomprehensible sequences of letters, some in print too tiny to read, others bold enough to stick out, and he was about to drop the paper back down when his eyes landed on something that made sense. A single word, larger than the others and bold so it would be noticed.

His name.

Forehead coming to rest on the frosty surface of the tube, Dib asked softly, "Can you hear me, Zim?" It was only an experiment, but when the tape spewed out faster, became that much longer, and he found the word 'yes' amidst the smaller trails of gibberish, it was proved a successful one.

As he searched for the right words, though he wasn't sure if there were any, Dib tried not to notice what continued to print; it was mostly nonsense, yes, strings of incoherent thought. But here and there, between the meaningless trails of letters and symbols, came phrases, generally in small type, that told him what he didn't want to know, asked things of him that he couldn't give.

Please help-

It hurts-

Make it stop-

Why-

"...I'm sorry, Zim," he whispered. And for the first time since the Meekrob had arrived, since he had come to the conclusion that he didn't care if he was living another lie in another virtual world or not, he really meant what he was saying. This was important – this _mattered_ to him.

This was his enemy; constantly trapped, alone, and in unimaginable pain...and Dib could do nothing.

He could do nothing as what was left of Zim's body thrived within its cold confines, and what was left of Zim's mind died away, bit by bit.

"...I'm sorry."

The tape went suddenly blank, inching out little by little.

For a moment, Dib feared that in that short time, the Irken's already fragile mind had shattered and fled completely.

Then, two simple words printed.

_It's okay._

* * *

Might continue this in a later prompt, give it a happy - or at least vaguely happy - resolution. Unless you all think it's fine the way it is, somehow. I mean, I guess not everything can have a happy ending. I dunno.


	31. Old

Anyone else remember SN 1987A? Ha, just kidding, I wasn't even alive then.

Note: 'Decanted', in its usage here, refers to the removal of an Irken smeet from its birthing tube, considering they are - more or less, as shown in 'Parent Teacher Night' - simply poured out onto the ground.

* * *

**OLD**

Irkens didn't age the way humans did, Zim had once told him. Since the introduction of PAK technology, never before had a member of their race died simply from living too long, though Dib had a feeling that it was because of their culture more than anything. The Irken race was violent, in many ways, given their militaristic society, and even the life of a drone was fraught with peril. Tallers lived longer, their status lending them some protection from peers bored enough to toss others (such as drones) out airlocks or other similar nonsense, but it was a general rule that Irkens rarely saw past their second century of life.

Zim also admitted, albeit grudgingly, that it was likely the same would be true for himself. Despite his immense ego, he still knew that he was rash to a fault, a dangerous thing indeed considering the job he was supposed to be doing. If he wasn't brought to his end by Dib, it was more than likely that he himself would bring about his own destruction.

Not surprisingly, when Dib had asked just what Zim's age was anyway, the question had been dodged, the Irken simply waving it off as unimportant and going about his usual business.

The fact that he currently had the remote for an orbital laser in his hand at the time, of course, made the question that much less important, and Dib had quickly forgotten about it in favor of saving the Earth yet again.

It wasn't until a few months later, around the end of autumn, that it was brought to his attention once again. Not because of any one of their rare casual conversations, however, but because of a shocking display of generosity on his rival's part; Zim had offered him the chance to witness firsthand one of the most incredible sights in the universe.

Strapped into the passenger seat of a craft he hadn't even known Zim to have, Dib hadn't yet considered exactly why the Invader was doing this. It wasn't some clever trap, he knew; Zim had gone so far as to promise his safety, of both life _and_ limb, no less. So what was it?

That one question occupied his mind for the entirety of the trip. Considering the infinite size of the universe, it was a very short trip, sure, especially given that Zim had made use of wormhole transport to quicken the journey. But nonetheless, the question remained, nagging at Dib's subconscious for all of an hour and a half. It stayed even as the enormous cloud of gases and dust – their apparent destination – loomed ahead of them, growing closer and closer before their craft was immersed in it, aiming for the very center of the thick nebula.

Then, after a length of heavy silence, the vessel passed through the final veil of gas. Immediately, Dib lifted an arm to cover his eyes, blocking out the intense light that suddenly blazed forth. A few noises of tapped buttons later, with Zim nudging at him with an elbow, he dared a glimpse, finding that a protective film had slid into place over the plexiglass, removing the blinding glare.

Before them lay a massive star, nestled deep in the heart of an even more immense nebula, buried so deep in fact that Dib hadn't even been able to catch a hint of its glow. From their craft's vantage point, at a safe distance and with force fields running at maximum strength, he could already tell that something was off; he glanced to Zim curiously, but had a feeling that he shouldn't yet speak. He'd let the Irken say what he wanted first; there had to be more to the trip than this.

"Zim is...one hundred and sixty three in your Earth years, Dib-human," the Invader murmured, ruby eyes locked on the star. Still, Dib said nothing, knowing that that couldn't be all this was. "Full-grown in my race's terms, ancient in yours. Today was when I was decanted. When my incredible Zim-life began." He then nodded to the blazing ball of gas, antennae bobbing a bit at the action. "Coincidentally, it was also on this day that I discovered my star."

"Your...?"

The Irken glanced to him, expression intense, but otherwise unreadable. "Yes. My star. This far out in a backwater quadrant, no one bothered to explore, and the nebula throws off readings, so no one bothered to keep scanning it. It wasn't deemed important." He averted his gaze after a short pause, focusing on the star once more. "Zim found it on accident, nearly a century ago. But I still found it, so it is mine."

Dib nodded to show he understood, and stared down at the flaming sphere silently. After a while, he prompted out of curiosity, "What did you name it?"

"What else? I named it after myself," Zim responded simply, with a shrug of one shoulder. It made perfect sense to him.

Knowing the Irken's pride, it made perfect sense to Dib, too. What didn't make sense was what they were doing here; if this was Zim's idea of an incredible sight, then he needed glasses even more than Dib did. Not wanting to draw the suspense out any longer, he asked, "So why are we here?"

"Because in five minutes, Zim is going to die."

The blunt words hung heavily in the air for a moment.

Then, the Invader grinned at him, and the statement sank in. Catching the implications, Dib laughed and looked away from his rival to the brilliant fiery sphere. "I expect you'll go out with a bang," he chuckled lightly. "So you better not disappoint me, Zim."

Whether it was directed to his rival, or the supergiant star before them, the Irken responded regardless.

"You can count on it."

* * *

Written because whenever someone writes stuff about either one getting older, it's always Dib that kicks the bucket, and that's just not fair. :D

EDIT: Just a quick update to clarify something, because from the reviews I've gotten so far for this prompt, apparently the point/joke of it is a little strange...? Basically, Zim isn't actually the one who's going to die in five minutes here, but rather, the supergiant star that is _also_ named Zim. I thought the whole 'massive star' and 'most incredible sight in the universe' descriptions, paired with the whole 'going to die' thing and the joke about SN 1987A, would make it kind of obvious, but I guess I was wrong. I must just suck at getting my point across. :(


	32. Desecrate

Not sure if I really like this one or not, but it still amuses me to some degree, so...here it is.

* * *

**DESECRATE**

Unaware of what day it was, and just how perfect its timing was, the harvest moon began to inch its way into the sky, bathing the darkened city with its eerie red glow. Its effect was magnified in one particular section of this city, where two figures were creeping through the shadows towards a large iron gate. As one of them cautiously pushed it open enough to allow someone to squeeze through, jumping a bit when the rusted metal protested the action with a low grating creak, the other looked around nervously.

"Maybe, um...we really shouldn't be here..." Dib managed as Zim slipped through the small opening and motioned him forward urgently, eyes narrowed and antennae flattened in displeasure – he had no need to wear his disguise today, of all days.

The gate rattled as the larger boy wedged himself between the metal, getting stuck and earning another startled jump from his companion at the noise. Then, acting as though it hadn't happened and that he wasn't at all jittery, no sir, Zim hissed back as quietly as he could, "You're the one that came up with the idea, stupid! Don't tell me you're scared already!"

Stumbling a bit when he managed to pull himself free, Dib brushed himself off shakily and adjusted his glasses before directing a frown at the Irken. "I'm not!" he retorted. "I just don't want the caretaker to find us! _You're_ the one who's scared of _Halloweenies_."

"They'll eat your guts!" Zim growled insistently, in some kind of attempt to defend and rationalize his rather irrational phobia. He then added, as though it would help, "And scoop out your brains for _soup_!"

"Yet all they ever seem to do is beg for candy," Dib grumbled back with a roll of his eyes, stuffing his hands in his pockets and shuffling down the pathway before slowly winding his way past graves, keeping a close watch for the caretaker or the tell-tale beam of his flashlight. Not that the flashlight was really necessary, given the fact that it was considered 'cool' to have gravestones adorned with LED lights nowadays, but then, Dib had learned from previous experience that the caretaker wasn't exactly what one would call smart.

The boy jumped in shock when he felt something brush against him, but upon realizing that it was only Zim, the Invader sticking as close to him as he could out of sheer paranoia, he rolled his eyes again. Not even having to look at Dib to know what he was doing, Zim knocked an elbow into his side. "I thought I heard something," he snapped.

"It's just your imagination," Dib responded wearily, then, unable to resist the urge to mess with his enemy, he added on casually, "Either that, or the whole thing about ghosts rising on the night of the harvest moon really _is_ true." He tried not to snicker when Zim's eyes bugged in horror, but couldn't contain it, earning another sharp elbow to the side and a glare from the alien.

When Dib only continued to laugh, Zim elbowed him yet again, snarling lowly, "Quit playing around and let's get this over with! I hate this stupid holiday!" At least it let him walk around sans disguise without being bothered, save by those who 'absolutely adored his alien costume'. Stupid humans.

Digging into some pockets hidden deep in the folds of his trenchcoat, Dib gave a little snort of exasperation. "Yeah, yeah." Pulling out a shopping bag from one particularly large pocket, he was about to ask something when he realized exactly what the Irken was doing. "Zim! Stop stepping all over the graves!"

Antennae perking up and eyes widening in shock, Zim hurriedly complied, only doing so because he had no idea of exactly what he was doing wrong by stepping on them and what kind of consequences it might have. "What? Why?! Are they booby-trapped?!" he asked frantically, eying the mounds warily.

"Well, uh...not really, but it's kinda rude," Dib told him, then felt rather silly when he considered what they were here to do. When Zim only directed an aggravated scowl at him, he shrugged and continued with a mean little grin, "Do you really want to risk being rude to a dead person on a day like this? They might rise up and haunt you for the rest of your life. Or, you know, maybe they'll just eat your brains and save themselves the trouble."

Gulping nervously, the Irken quickly averted his eyes, and pointedly avoided treading on any more graves. This time, Dib managed to keep himself from laughing, thus avoiding getting another elbow to the gut; he was probably already going to have a bruise there.

"So do you have the stuff or what?" he prompted, pulling the two small aerosol cans from the bag he was carrying before stuffing the empty sack back into his pocket. "I'm not going to give you any of mine, after all."

"Of course Zim has _stuff_," Zim spat, a PAK leg extending with his own little grocery bag, which he took and began to sort through, examining each little can.

Dib peered over the shorter boy's shoulder at the bag's contents, though he already knew what it contained. "Why'd you get so many?" he asked.

"There were a bunch of different kinds," Zim replied with a shrug and a little frown. "I am unfamiliar with the stuff." Dib nodded in understanding; it was unlikely Irkens had something similar. "So, is Funny Floss better than Wacky Wire, or should Zim use the Tomfoolery Twine?"

Rolling his eyes with a little chuckle, Dib pulled the cap off his own cheap Silly String knockoff. "I'm pretty sure they're all about the same."

Ten minutes later, various headstones and both boys were covered in the stuff, Zim screaming obscenities at his enemy in various languages as he raced after him, intent on repaying the favor of getting an accidental mouthful of nasty plastic spray. Dib, fortunately able to keep ahead of the Invader, only continued to shoot more colored string (stolen from Zim when he ran out) over his shoulder as they dashed through the cemetery, laughing mockingly every step of the way.

It wasn't much longer before the two bumped into the caretaker, and, not knowing who it was, they ran off shrieking in terror when only three things registered in their minds. One: they'd been stepping on a lot of graves. Two: he looked quite like Frankenstein's monster. Three: he looked _really_ mad.

* * *

I recommend you watch the Mortos episode again - you'll probably note that some of the headstones actually _are _decorated with LED lights.


	33. Need

Tried and probably failed, but it was fun either way.

Warning: Some crude language and crazy blatant near-ZADR in the form of hate-sex (though mostly only alluded to and thus nothing graphic, sorry). Semi-non-con-ish, also. Please don't hate me. D:

**

* * *

**

**NEED**

"This is really unnecessary, you know," Dib muttered when the Irken clambered into his room through the window for the second time that month, as though no one already knew. Zim ignored his dissenting tone, as was usual, and – with nothing more than a little scoff and a roll of the eyes – dragged him insistently from chair to bed. And for the second time that month, Dib regretted ever letting Gaz plan his 21st birthday.

He should have known that she was up to something that would make him miserable in some way. He honestly hadn't really cared where they went, as he'd never put that much importance on celebrating another year of his life gone by, seeing as it didn't really matter all _that_ much in the long run. So, when Gaz had told him that they should go to a club with a bar because she wanted to watch him get drunk and make an ass of himself, he'd just shrugged and decided 'what the hell'.

Of course, Gaz had failed to mention that she'd ordered Zim to drop by, and failed _miserably_ to mention that she'd ordered him to do so an hour after they'd actually arrived at the club, giving her just enough time to get her beloved brother thoroughly wasted.

And after that, the details were a bit fuzzy.

Dib got the gist of it, though; he'd been making himself seem quite the fool on the karaoke machine when Zim showed up, Gaz pulling the Invader aside for a quick private chat, and then before he knew it, he and his mortal enemy had been on the dance floor. That was actually the clearest memory he could recall; Zim's mocking laughter every time he wavered off balance or stumbled a bit. The Irken still danced with him, though, and had asked something that Dib couldn't remember to save his life.

He had a feeling that the question had been important, but he still couldn't recall it, and Zim refused to remind him once he was sober. Said it didn't mean anything, which Dib seriously doubted, seeing as not long after the question had been asked, he'd drunkenly lead the alien out to his car to do some very questionable things in the backseat.

Dib wasn't exactly sure how far they'd gotten, but at this point it wasn't at all significant. He also wasn't exactly sure of what Gaz might have told Zim that night, or what _he'd_ told Zim for that matter, and he still had only the vaguest ideas of what he'd done while he was drunk.

What he _did_ know for certain was that, at the end of it all, his enemy suddenly seemed keenly interested on a particular area of study.

It didn't really make all that much sense to him, as he could tell Zim found it rather disgusting in some way or another, but after the incident in the backseat, followed soon after by the first 'experiment' of the first round of 'studying' deep in the Irken's labs, Dib wound up having his nemesis drop by his house every couple of weeks. What was most unnerving of all was the fact that the visits seemed to be getting closer and closer together as time went on.

Now, to be frank, Dib wasn't entirely thrilled by the turn of events. By no means had he agreed to the Irken's so-called research, and by no means did he want Zim to think he had. He might have once, on his birthday when the alcohol was doing the talking for him, but that really didn't count. Not that his enemy would care.

Especially not now.

Grumbling irritably when Zim shoved him back onto the sheets, Dib smartly kept his mouth shut as his pants were dragged down; he could argue all he wanted, but in the end it didn't make a damn difference. One way or another, whether it meant a visit to the man's house or tying him down kicking and screaming in his base, the Irken was set on his studies, and after all, it wasn't like Dib was getting nothing from the ordeal. He'd learned more about the alien's race in just the past few months than he had in the whole ten years the Invader had been on Earth, just by asking questions once the deed was good and done and Zim was feeling nice and cooperative (if not rather snuggly).

Once the Irken was bare and perched over him, the man averted his gaze and, as he often did, tried valiantly to pretend that he was somewhere else and _with_ someone else. He usually failed, for the most part, and later felt particularly annoyed that a completely different (not to mention stupid) head had to be in control at that point. Zim, on the other hand, had no such qualms, not including the fact that Dib was a horrible smelly human and didn't deserve such an honor.

This, of course, was always mentioned both before the act and after it, though Dib couldn't really see why Zim even bothered to say it afterward, when he was always cuddling up to the supposed 'horrible smelly human' and practically purring in satisfaction. In fact, given the circumstances, it didn't make sense that Zim bothered to offer the reminder at all. He also couldn't see exactly why the Irken kept his research going; from what he could tell, the only thing that could possibly change after the first time was the manner in which it was performed.

Dib didn't really like to think about that. If that was what Zim was researching, for whatever bizarre reason, things might go on like this for ages, and that was the _last_ thing he wanted right now. Another thing he didn't like considering was the possibility that it wasn't actually for the sake of Irken science, and that his enemy just _enjoyed_ it. No, Dib definitely didn't like considering that at _all_.

A little frown crossed his face when the alien cuddled up closer, a contented little hum escaping him as he curled his arms around the man's neck. "No questions today, Dib-human?" Zim mumbled against his skin, sending a shudder through him; whether of revulsion or something else that he didn't want to consider was unclear.

Dib took a chance. He didn't want to know, but he couldn't stand not knowing, either. "Is this really research you're doing?" Antennae quirking, Zim shifted enough so he could meet the man's gaze fully, but he didn't answer immediately, so Dib added flatly, "Or was that just for the first time?"

Silently, his enemy watched him, eyes narrowed as he processed the questions, before finally Zim spoke, tone careful. "It is..._technically_ research..."

"_Technically_," Dib echoed sourly, not impressed. "I want to know what it _actually_ is, then, if it's only _technically_ research. Tell me, Zim, do you just like doing this?"

The Irken tensed at that, and immediately drew away, sitting up and glaring at everything but Dib; he didn't dare look at the man now. "You're just a stupid human. Why do you think you deserve to have Zim tell you anything?"

"Because you broke into my house and had your way with me, _that's_ why!" Dib spat, pounding a fist down against the blankets in frustration. "I'd at least like a reason for it!"

"I don't _have_ to have a reason! So _there_!" Zim yelled back, seemingly just for the sake of being a stubborn ass.

Forcing back the strong compulsion to simply strangle the alien, or something equally violent, Dib just flopped back against the pillows and covered his face with his hands, grumbling a variety of curses, insults, and whines of 'why me'. Eventually he took to rubbing at his temples, trying to soothe the ache there; he barely even noticed when Zim inched back over to curl up next to him, antennae flat and expression sulky.

When the Irken muttered, "You made me all angry again," Dib dropped his hands down to rest over his stomach and turned his head to scowl at him, quite pissed now.

"Want me to fuck you and make everything all better?" he asked harshly, tone dripping with sarcasm, and he felt at least somewhat vindicated when Zim seemed to shrink down on himself, ruby eyes downcast. The action, and his enemy's previous words, spoke volumes, and Dib groaned and looked away. "You've got to be kidding me, Zim. Really. Is that what this is? _Stress relief?_"

"Of _course_ not, Dib-thing. That's not it at all," Zim muttered grudgingly, the lie obvious to the both of them; regardless, he kept going. "It's just research. That's all it is."

Despite wanting to hurl some nasty insults on principle alone, Dib swallowed the urge and turned over to regard the Irken, just staring at him levelly. Then, he shook his head and heaved a grating sigh. "Sure, Zim. Sure it is. Whatever." He didn't complain when Zim pressed up against him once more, claw-like fingers wandering, and also didn't complain five minutes later when he was pulled on top of the Irken, mouths pressed together and bodies slick with sweat.

He'd let Zim have his fun; he had his own research to attend to afterward.

* * *

It's truuuuuuuuue loooooooooooove! (No, it's not.)

I tried to leave it up to interpretation for who takes it, I really did, but my fangirly joy for bottom!Zim probably snuck in. Especially seeing as, for some reason, I can't imagine him with any kind of penis. It's probably because he's an alien and would have completely different parts that are likely very strange in comparison to ours. :D

Fun fact: I found an...um...interesting little story that described well enough how I'd consider Irken parts to be if they had them (which, in canon, they don't, but for this particular prompt I kindly told canon to fuck off). S'called 'Teenage Tendencies', if anyone cares to look for it.


	34. Biohazard

Apparently no one cared about the last prompt. Well, fine then. I'm not friends with you guys anymore. 8\

But anyway... I tried to keep the story short and sweet this time, taking into consideration the length of my latest prompts. Rather pleased with the result, even if it's still not as short as it could have been.

I'd leave a warning, but that might spoil it, and that wouldn't be any fun. :( Just rest assured that this warning is possibly necessary.

* * *

**BIOHAZARD**

It had been a delightful little surprise to find GIR sitting outside the base, Ice Sucky in one paw as the other tugged on his leash, making him laugh wildly as though it was the funniest thing this side of the galaxy. He was tied to a tree again, as apparently his master had gotten tired of either his interfering or just plain being annoying. Whatever the reason, it was a surprise, and it was delightful.

It meant Dib could get into the base.

He'd learned early on that GIR was not entirely smart – if by 'not entirely smart' you meant 'absolutely retarded' – and had decided at that point that he should take advantage of the fact as much as possible. He also learned early on that GIR liked him for one reason or another, or more likely no reason at all, and that suited him just fine, because it meant that he could take advantage of GIR's idiocy and friendliness all at the same time. For this such occasion, he did so simply by asking the robot if he could be allowed in.

With the leash in his hand, as GIR had insisted he 'walk' him, Dib stepped into the Invader's lair excitedly, making a beeline for the trash can. He knew well enough by now that it concealed one of many elevators, and that it was the least uncomfortable way to get down to the labs.

He shuddered slightly, remembering the first and only time he'd tried the toilet entrance.

A short while later found him walking down an expansive hallway with video camera at the ready and GIR's leash still in hand – where the actual robot was now, though, was uncertain, as he'd managed to get free at some point, skipping away and giggling dementedly. Vaguely, Dib hoped he hadn't gone to find Zim so as to squeal about their new 'visitor'.

When he caught sight of the small room behind the thick pane of glass (or something like glass), at first, Dib thought nothing of it. At least, until he noticed exactly who was in that room, strapped down and trembling with a mix of artificially induced delight and pants-wetting fear.

Dib actually didn't recognize the child himself, but the probe jammed into his head was familiar, and the simple fact that he was human demanded immediate action. This child needed a hero, and was a valuable witness to aid in the fight against the Irken menace! So, leash and camera dropping forgotten onto the metal floor, Dib bolted without a second thought towards the door of the containment room, yanking it open and hastily beginning to undo the other boy's restraints.

He ignored the not-quite-protests as the child started to rant and ramble gleefully at him, raving madness about 'delightful danger' or something stupid like that. And then, the door slammed shut on its own and heavy bolts automatically slid into place over it. Eyes wide in shock, Dib spun around to see Zim waving cheerfully at him through the glass, GIR at his side. The robot was also waving to Dib, a big goofy smile on his face as he motioned with his other hand up at his master, as if to say 'Look who I found for you!'

Smugly, the Irken lifted up a small remote and pointed to it with an evil little smirk, getting Dib's impromptu cellmate to squeal yet more happy gibberish, this time about the 'fun little room of nuclear joy'. From the sick aroma of urine suddenly permeating the air, however, Dib had a nasty hunch that there was nothing at all _fun_ about this room. Horrified, he immediately darted up to the window and started to bang his fists on it, shrieking threats and curses a boy his age should never utter, all of them directed at the alien standing safely on the other side of the glass.

Zim only yawned, making a big show of it, before simply tossing the remote over to GIR and sauntering off, humming pleasantly to himself.

And not moments later, when the hallway was bathed with a sickening yellow glow, he chuckled lightly to himself and decided that he might like to go get a soda.

* * *

Oh, that GIR! ((canned laughter))


	35. Sacrificial

I don't know what possessed me to write this, but I think it's funny, because I am terrible and have no proper sense of humor.

Warning: Religion..._sort of_. I don't really count it as a proper religion, because it _shouldn't be_. Also, there's some Zim eating (and liking) Earth chips. I guess that can possibly warrant a warning, I mean...it's pretty strange. Sort of.

* * *

**SACRIFICIAL**

"I don't think coming here was a good idea," Zim hissed to him as they inched through the crowd of goths, people who seemed like but weren't quite goths, and other people who differed wildly from goths and were scary as hell.

Speaking of Hell, that was the cause for the happy occasion.

Cringing and trying to avoid actually bumping into anyone, Dib muttered back lowly, "Hey, Gaz invited us, and said that if we didn't come, she'd tear my arm off and feed it to her rats. I rather like my arm, thanks, so...yeah. Here we are." He glanced around a bit nervously, doing his best not to look anyone in the eye, and added hesitantly, "Yeah, here we are...at a...wannabe Satanist cult meeting. ...Great."

"Why does it smell like bat poop?" Zim asked uncertainly.

"I don't think you want to know," Dib replied. "I know I don't." He finally caught sight of his sister amongst all the other terrifying examples of humanity, and called a greeting to her, chancing a wave and earning the middle finger from her and a couple of her groupies. Sighing, he grumbled to Zim, "Sometimes I just can't believe we're related."

The disguised Irken only shrugged, and, catching sight of something he found actually interesting, exclaimed happily, "They have a snack table!" He skipped off in its direction, prompting Dib to follow after him as best he could. He lost the alien for a minute or two when a closely-knit group of rather scary teen girls found their way in front of him; he didn't dare try to squeeze past them, for several of them had various articles of clothing decorated with sharp spikes for no particular reason.

Once they'd gone by, he quickly spotted the snack table and the Irken seated next to it, mouth partially stuffed and another handful of chips held at the ready; the only thing keeping him from shoving that into his mouth as well was the fact that he was currently chatting with an emo kid, who'd addressed him mostly out of boredom. By the time Dib reached them, the conversation was over and the boy was shuffling off, offering a halfhearted wave that went completely unnoticed as he left. "What did that guy want?" Dib asked out of curiosity, sinking into the seat next to Zim.

"Ehn...he asked if I was a virgin," the Irken replied after swallowing his current mouthful, already reaching for the chip bowl for another.

Eyes bugging a bit, Dib wasn't sure how to react at first. "Uh..._why_?" That seemed appropriate enough.

"I'unno," Zim responded with a shrug of one shoulder; he was more interested in the snacks. "But he laughed when Zim asked what a virgin was."

"Gee, I wonder why." Feeling quite nervous all of a sudden, Dib scooted his chair a little closer to Zim's; it was for both of their protection, he decided. "Um, hey...he wouldn't have happened to mention anything about some sort of ritual thing, right?"

At first the alien didn't respond, holding up a hand to signify that he wasn't done chewing. Then, he gulped down his food, gave a little satisfied sound, and answered offhandedly, "Oh, that thing. Yeah, he did. He said I was lucky they don't do that anymore because people kept getting arrested."

Dib only stared at him for a moment before shaking his head in disbelief. "This is the worst Satanist group ever."

* * *

It really is, Dib...it really is. Anyway, not sure why Gaz would have joined in, but she's a horrible little demon child, so it seems oddly appropriate to me. So there.

Apologies to any actual Satanists out there, although I have to wonder about you guys sometimes. Sorry, it's just you make even less sense than Scientologists. (Please don't hurt me.)


	36. Desert

Couldn't resist this. I just couldn't.

Warning: One gigantic Dune reference, because I am highly lame and uncreative. :(

Note: No, reading Dune isn't necessary to understand this. You might miss a joke or two, though. Sorry. (Don't worry, my jokes are crappy, anyway.)

* * *

**DESERT**

From their high vantage point, Zim stared out across the vast ocean of sand and grumbled to himself; it was too hot here. Much, _much_ too hot. This was the _worst_ place for an emergency landing, hands down, but at least fuel wouldn't be a source of trouble. At least, if they could _get_ to the fuel. He could see a promising spot off in the distance, taunting him, and tried to make up his mind. It _would_ be dangerous...

Behind him, Dib shuffled up, rubbing at the back of his head; he'd banged it rather hard sometime during the rough entry through the atmosphere. "We're stuck here, aren't we?" he sighed, trying not to wince when he pressed a little too hard on a sore spot.

One hand resting on his hip as he rubbed at his chin with the other, the Irken otherwise ignored him, preoccupied with his own thoughts. Then, he turned on his heel and strode past the teen, back to the Voot Cruiser. "Not at all, Dib-creature. Everything is perfectly under control, just as long as you obey Zim without question."

Frowning after his travel companion, Dib gave an almost weary sigh, wiping the sweat from his brow before crossing his arms. "Just because we ran out of fuel, I have to listen to you?" He shook his head in annoyance when the alien didn't answer at first, instead rummaging around for something inside the beat-up vessel.

Zim reemerged a couple minutes later, uniform switched out for his more protective spacesuit, and – strangely enough – with a small bucket and shovel in hand. "Anywhere else, perhaps not. But here, yes. _Very_ yes. Your survival depends upon your listening skills – _do you hear it?_"

"Hear what?"

The Irken gave a quick dismissive wave of his free hand, proclaiming, "Oop, too late, you're dead. Never mind, then."

Aggravated, Dib retorted, "Fine, I'll listen to you. Just don't be a jerk about it." He then rolled his eyes. "Oh, right, I forgot, you're incapable of being anything _other_ than a jerk." Zim simply scoffed at him and began the trek down the steep rocky slope of the plateau they'd landed on, making his way towards the expanse of sand below. As he went, he called back over his shoulder for Dib to get into attire more proper for traversing a foreign planet.

Though he didn't entirely enjoy squeezing himself into Irken-made spacesuits, as they were overall highly uncomfortable, Dib obeyed anyway, glad that they at least shielded him from the intense climate. Not long afterward, he was picking his own path down to the dunes, barely even noticing the heat anymore. He found Zim standing at the very edge of the rock were it met the sand, eying the stuff critically, and couldn't help but give a disdainful snort. "It's just sand, Zim, _come on_," he chuckled, but he wasn't able to take two steps from the stone before Zim hauled him back, antennae raised in alarm.

"Smelly _moron_! You don't just walk out on it like that!" he snapped, whacking him in the arm with the bucket he was carrying.

"Uh, why not? It's _sand_, it's basically _meant_ to be walked on."

"Oh, yes, and I'm sure the Great Makers would agree," Zim shot back, stepping from the rock carefully and keeping a wary gaze on the ground beneath his feet. He glanced up at his companion for a moment, all frowns. "Tell me, Dib, do you like worms?"

The teen stared back at him uncertainly for a moment, the seemingly irrelevant question and the 'great maker' comment throwing him off. Finally, he gave a confused little shrug. "I...guess...?"

"Well then, how would you like a worm as big as the Empire State Building?"

Dib made a face. "I...can't say I'd like it all that much," he replied, still not sure what prompted the questions. "Actually, I'm glad there _isn't_ a worm that big."

"Well, Dib, welcome to Arrakis," Zim drawled sarcastically, with a sweeping wave of his shovel at the surrounding scenery. "Home of the giant worms that eat things that walk around on their sand." The Irken allowed a few seconds for this to sink in, particularly pleased by the expression of shock on the boy's face, then turned on his heel and took a couple of light steps; one long stride here, a stop there, one smaller step, not letting himself fall into any noticeable rhythm. "And _this_-" He pointedly took another couple of uneven strides. "-is how we avoid them. Don't fall behind!"

After his brain had wrapped itself around the concept of a worm as big as a skyscraper, Dib figured that it might be a good idea to actually listen to Zim this time around, and began to mimic the alien's actions. It was definitely strange, and quickly became tiring, but he kept up. "So...what's the bucket for?" he asked finally, having been wondering about it for a while.

Zim glanced at him, then to the bucket, and finally back at Dib before he grinned. "We're going digging for fuel."

Dib decided that perhaps he didn't want to know, so instead of asking about it, he just pasted on a fake smile, nodded, and went along with it.

* * *

Melange: good for cooking, getting high, and covering vast interstellar distances! :D

(I _was _going to make a Maud'Dib joke, but even I have my limits.)


	37. Voodoo

Ha, this is so lame, but I don't care. :D

Warning: Some kinda lame hint at one-sided ZADR. ...Did I mention it's lame?

* * *

**VOODOO**

For the past five days, whenever Dib walked by Zim's base, he noticed that GIR was tied outside and giggling in a manner that didn't just seem to be a side-effect of his insanity. This was kind of suspicious.

Also for the past five days, Dib had fallen victim to an onslaught of unexplained cramps and backaches and other such various pains. This was highly suspicious.

And for the past five days, Zim had not let slip a single hint of any plans related to the takeover of planet Earth. This was the most suspicious thing of all.

The time had come for Dib to jump to conclusions, and because he was highly grumpy from lack of sleep, due to the continual muscle aches and whatnot, he decided to jump to the first conclusion that came to his mind, regardless of how stupid it was. What he came to wasn't _entirely_ stupid – it made a perfect amount of sense to him, in fact – and he didn't exactly care whether he had proof or not. What mattered was that it made_ sense_.

Clearly, Zim had done something to cause his pain, likely with the intent to kill him, or at least make him hurt a _lot_ so he wouldn't feel up to any heroics.

So, right after school on the sixth day of his aches and pains, Dib headed over to the Irken's lair, all well and prepared to break in. And, as an afterthought, hopefully beat Zim up, as he'd probably have the element of surprise on his side. (As opposed to just a stitch _in_ his side. Seriously, that thing had been bugging him for the past eight hours!)

When he kicked the door open, he found GIR on the couch, who squealed and waved energetically at him. Not really caring about the insane robot, Dib stormed over to the hidden elevator in the trash can, quite looking forward to giving the Irken a piece of his mind (and maybe a black eye, as an added bonus).

Before he could actually even open the trash can lid, of course, Zim took that moment to arrive on the main floor, contact-covered eyes widening in shock when he nearly collided with his enemy. Dib, however, hardly noticed the Irken's surprise, not even caring that it was quickly turning into anger. What he _did_ care to notice was the little doll clasped in the alien's hand.

A little doll that looked frighteningly familiar.

Of course, given his typical bad luck, the moment he called attention to it, Zim positively freaked and demanded that the computer throw him out. Not fifteen seconds later, with much shrieking from Zim and howling laughter from GIR, Dib was flat on his face on the sidewalk, having been literally thrown out the door.

When beating on the base's door proved ineffectual, and banging on the window even more so, Dib grudgingly gave it up as a lost cause and resigned himself to a life of annoying aches and pains. At least, until he went home and discovered that Gaz had been stuffing rocks under his mattress over the past few days as some kind of petty vengeance for taking her snacks. It definitely explained a lot, though he wasn't sure why he hadn't caught on earlier, especially when she'd seemed so disturbingly accepting of his 'crime'.

Now all Dib had to wonder was exactly what Zim was doing with a doll that looked like him.

* * *

Because he's totally got the hots for you, Dib. (Either that, or he really is just trying to make a voodoo doll.)


	38. City

Mostly just Dib this time. It was the first thing that popped into my mind at the prompting word, and while it doesn't have _that _much to do with said prompting word, I guess it doesn't really have to.

Warning: Death and some really bad luck. Also, I used 'Membrane' as Dib's last name, despite the fact that I know it actually isn't. It just sounds like it should be.

* * *

**CITY**

Underneath flickering fluorescent lights and seated on a rickety metal chair between two policemen, the man stared out the tiny room's dirty window, expression blank. He hardly heard any of the aged attorney's words, more focused on the smoke drifting lazily over the metropolis.

Every once in a while, Dib nodded in what he deemed an appropriate spot; the others hadn't picked up on it as of yet, so he guessed that he was good enough at pretending he was listening. He'd had a lot of practice dealing with-

...

-No, it was best not to think about him anymore.

He fancied then that he could hear the screams, the aftermath of a transpired battle in the streets between mortal enemies, but that was an even more treacherous line of thought. Just slightly shaking his head, Dib forced his mind to go as blank as his expression, but couldn't tear his gaze away from the small space between buildings, where the familiar cul-de-sac was nestled. He'd made a horrible decision, he knew. Shouldn't have done it, it was so stupid...

"Mr. Membrane? Are you listening?"

Dib glanced over at the attorney, a glimmer of surprise evident on his face, but it faded back into blankness and he just nodded again, mumbling an affirmation just barely loud enough to be heard.

"There's really not much we can do," the older man said then, combing one gnarled hand through his graying hair and sighing. "All the evidence against you, you know, and...well, your record's not exactly pristine..."

"I know," Dib murmured quietly, averting his gaze once again, back to the window and the plume of smoke unfurling from the concealed neighborhood.

"Your testimony won't hold up. I'm sorry."

Dib hadn't expected it to – a disguised alien invader hiding itself away in a perfectly normal cul-de-sac, who he'd gone to fight against with a stolen piece of equally alien weaponry he had no idea how to wield. That in itself was already unbelievable to the masses. Add in the fact that the weapon had backfired, the fact that he'd lost both it and the proof he'd been struggling for all his life...

To the public, the whole affair had 'terrorist' written all over it. They didn't understand.

And now they never would.

Zim's base was gone, self-destructed with its master's demise, decimating the surrounding homes and what remained of its owner. Dib, the only one who knew what was about to happen, had only barely escaped the explosion in time.

The alien weapon was worthless, blasted and mangled beyond all recognition or repair. It wasn't even made of some alloy never before discovered on Earth.

There was only Dib, a terrorist who had just killed an innocent and misunderstood child with a skin condition. Nothing more than a terrorist, who had planted enough explosives beneath the child's home to turn an entire neighborhood into a smoking crater, killing dozens of innocent people and injuring many more.

Against his better judgment, he imagined he could hear the emergency vehicles as they swarmed to the area, still trying to find survivors.

Numbly, barely hearing the words of the policemen as they hauled him up, Dib just nodded again, no longer caring what happened. Earth was safe. That was all that really mattered in the end, he decided.

The handcuffs closed over his wrists, and he went quietly.

* * *

Another happy ending! :D


	39. Snow

Again, has little to do with the prompt, but it was the first thing that came to mind that I liked.

* * *

**SNOW**

Generally, when Earth holidays were approaching, Dib had to assume that Zim was planning something that would end in the downfall of mankind. It had been true of most holidays so far, in fact.

There was New Year's, when, thanks to a number of drunks and their firecrackers, the alien had been certain his base was under attack and had launched an assault on the surrounding neighborhoods. Then Valentine's Day, when he'd gotten sick of the various heart-shaped meats and had tried to instigate the exchanging of tiny explosives instead. Followed by Easter, when the Irken had rampaged through the city chucking eggs at innocent children – not one of his greater moments, but Dib assumed he'd just been in a decidedly bad mood that day.

Earth Day had been particularly awful, as Zim had decided it would be ironic to try simply blowing up the planet in 'celebration'. However, in some strange sequence of events, he'd ended up stuck in a tree, which – in Dib's opinion – was possibly just as ironic.

There was also the incident on Cinco de Mayo, though that was less Zim hating humanity and more GIR wanting to coat the city in taquitos. Regardless, Dib could never look at Mexican food the same way again.

He remembered, too, the fiasco on National Gingerbread Day, where Zim had unsurprisingly tried to turn the entire planet into gingerbread, though in the end managed only to make the skool edible (much to the delight of his peers). A disastrous Fourth of July came next, where fireworks again wreaked havoc on his paranoia and drove him to carve halfway through the city with an orbital laser before Dib managed to put a stop to it.

Most other holidays followed the same pattern, notably including Halloween and Thanksgiving – Zim's reasons being that Halloweenies were evil and giving thanks was stupid, respectively. Meanwhile, at the beginning of Lent, rather than giving something up for forty days, he decided instead to make everyone else give up Lent itself by destroying religion (which didn't quite work). He even found ways to show his hatred for the lesser-observed festivities like Flag Day and Saint Patrick's Day.

But none of these days were quite so bad to Zim as one holiday in particular. The most jolly and giving holiday that went against his very nature as an Irken.

_Christmas._

Zim hated Christmas with a passion, for quite a number of reasons, most of which Dib found himself quite able to understand. The number one reason was, of course, that on the very first Christmas the Irken had spent on Earth, the very first Christmas in which he had invested so much time and planning and utilities to ruin, he had been completely and utterly defeated. Not just by Dib, but by the overall spirit of the festivities that had caused his Santa suit to malfunction in the first place (that, and kiddy drool).

The second reason had to do with the defining traits of Christmas itself. Selflessness, giving, caring, and general cheeriness were not the kinds of things a respectable Irken would allow themselves to feel nor be surrounded by; it just wasn't _right_. And combining all those traits into one giant happy fat man, who dedicated his life to giving people stuff after breaking into their houses and eating their snacks, was just as equally _not right_.

The third reason was that mistletoe was disgusting. This was the one that Dib didn't quite get, as Zim seemed more horrified by the plant itself rather than the act humans typically performed beneath it, but he chalked it up to his nemesis being just plain weird and overtly alien as usual.

The fourth reason was the inclusion of spirituality into the whole ordeal, because in Zim's opinion, religion was pointless, and when something was pointless to Zim, the only thing you could do with it was either try and ignore it, or try to destroy it. Surprisingly, the Irken was actually very good at ignoring Earth religions, but around Christmas it was not only impossible for him, but annoying and sometimes even inconvenient, as he often found himself being approached by absolute strangers asking him if he'd been 'saved' yet.

The final reason was that the timing of the whole affair was terrible, because who the heck could be so jolly in such god-awful weather?

Of course, all of this tied together guaranteed that Zim was going to try to ruin the holiday yet again when it rolled around that year, and thus, Dib was prepared to do what he could to stop it.

Imagine his surprise when he discovered his enemy outside the nearest mall on Christmas Eve, dressed very elf-like and festive, and looking very harassed. A small crowd of children bustled around him, some almost as tall as he was, all begging and whining to be let up on Santa's lap. Dib could hear him yelling something like, 'This is the donation Santa! Leave him alone and beg for presents from the Santa _inside_, you horrible pests!' and couldn't contain a grin, wondering what could have possessed the alien to take such a job.

* * *

Obviously he's handing out poisoned candy canes, Dib. Geez.


	40. Drum

Yet again, more Dib than Zim this time. Perhaps an odd concept, but I liked it, so I wrote it. Cheers!

* * *

**DRUM**

Dib had been going to this club for quite a while, ever since his 21st birthday had come and gone and he was allowed inside with just a quick flash of ID. He liked the music here, the resounding beat seeming to be part of the walls and floors and tables and everyone who came in, and he liked the drinks that were served. He rarely came to get drunk, of course; when he wasn't hunting down his paranormal obsessions, he came to the club to work.

Here, no one knew him as the crazy guy you had to avoid at all costs.

Here, he was the understanding bartender who knew just what to say and when to say it.

People liked him here, liked how he listened to them and laughed at their jokes even when they weren't funny. And because they liked him, they listened to him and laughed at his jokes, because his jokes were never not funny.

Everyone there, or at least those who came in regularly, had heard of his love of the paranormal – and here, that was just fine and dandy. It was actually kind of cool; braving thick forests to hunt down Sasquatch, paddling to the middle of a vast lake to search for mystic serpents, scanning the skies wistfully for a hint of alien life. And it wasn't like it hurt anybody – even with all his strange quirks and obsessive compulsive tendencies, Dib was perfectly friendly.

There had only ever been one exception in the memories of the regulars, one strange little blip in the data, one out of thousands. Those who witnessed it were never really sure of what exactly had transpired, only that it had been over in a matter of minutes.

Amidst the riffs of the guitar and the ever-present reverberation of a song's beat, a small figure had emerged from the crowd. The person's size had been what had grabbed their attention in the first place – he was no taller than an elementary skool child, and had a look of immaturity about him, making them wonder how he'd gotten in at all. He seemed greenish, almost sickly so, but the many colored strobes and spotlights in the darkened club could have been playing tricks on their imaginations, and most of them had already had a couple of drinks.

When Dib finally spotted him, he was greeted curtly, which was the second thing to interest them. Dib never greeted anyone like that. It was always smiles and laughs and the customary offer of a sample or two of drinks to see what one liked best.

Not for this person, though, but overall he'd seemed remarkably unphased. He'd had to clamber up onto a chair to be seen over the bar, had tried urgently to get something across to Dib without having to shout over the music, only to be glared at, and what's more, waved off.

Dib had never before waved anyone off – he always listened, always.

Finally, the tiny boy – for he couldn't have been older than twelve, they thought – had yelled at him.

Three simple words, still just barely heard over the resounding rhythm: _They're not coming._

Something shattered after that, the shotglass that had been in Dib's hand gone and likely no more than pieces and glittering powder across the tile. They weren't sure if he'd merely dropped it or if perhaps he'd thrown it, weren't sure if it was only from surprise or if the words had dragged forth a terrible frustration in the man. Whatever had happened, it seemed to have frightened both of them; the boy was already off the chair and backing away, Dib staring at him in disbelief.

And then, Dib had snapped something, words that were lost in the music, before yelling at the child to get out.

And that was that.

Those who remembered it wondered sometimes, wondered who the boy had been, how Dib had known him, what had happened between them. Sometimes they asked, every now and then, when the man seemed in a mood good enough to where he might answer, or when they were drunk enough to think it might be a good idea. Every time, though, he just laughed as though they'd made some fantastic joke, poured them another drink, and pretended he hadn't heard them over the pounding of a song's tempo.

* * *

The only problem with this prompt is that if I imagine that the song being played is the Macarena, I can't take it seriously. But I guess that would be a problem for anybody.


	41. Mislead

Quick, simple, and rather silly, but I like it all the same.

* * *

**MISLEAD**

"You're _absolutely sure_ about this. _No_ doubts whatsoever. Right?"

Dib was nodding, looking oddly cheerful about something or other, which did nothing to deter the suspicious frown on the face of the disguised alien sitting across from him. Dib was hardly ever cheerful, how strange... Of course, Zim wasn't about to waste his time wondering why his enemy was so happy. Instead, he pressed further for confirmation.

"_One hundred percent_ positive?" he prompted insistently.

Finally, the boy just gave a little irritated groan. "_Yes_, Zim, how many times do I have to say it?!"

Zim glared at him, retorting sourly, "Until Zim is satisfied." Or, after he let it drag on for long enough, when Dib would finally give up and admit that he'd only been trying to make him do something stupid. Not this time, though; the Irken had been showing skepticism for nearly half an hour, and still the boy persisted. Either he really was being truthful, or he wanted _very_ badly to mess with him.

"Considering your standards, that could take hours, Zim!" Dib snapped at him then, crossing his arms. "I'm telling you, it's totally normal!"

That was typically what brought the Irken to concede; normality, what he aimed for above all else. This time was not an exception, but he threw in one last ditch effort to expose any trickery, saying casually, "Very well, but when I am unfortunate enough to see your ugly head again, you'd better be wearing it as well."

"No way! I'm not going to wear _girl's clothes_!" Dib spat, then realized his mistake. Face flushing in a mix of anger and embarrassment, he jumped up to his feet and hastily ran off without another word.

Unconcerned by the sudden retreat, Zim merely shook his head, snickered to himself, and resumed devising his next plot for world domination, thinking all the while that perhaps Dib was losing his touch. After all, Zim had already been made fun of plenty of times for wearing something that looked like a dress.

* * *

It seriously does look like a dress, guys.


	42. Confrontation

Late update, because I suck.

I simply could not resist this. I could NOT. Being that it's prompt number 42, which is something only a nerd (read: me) would care about, and is also a word that would quite fit the concept, I just HAD to write it, if only to show just how much of a geek I really am. Hope you enjoy how utterly goofy I can be! :D

Warning: Severe nerdiness, live-action roleplaying, and some very lame and/or overused jokes. Also, goblins are designated as green while kobolds are not without any previous research on the writer's part, because finding out the typically-used colors of fictional monsters is totally important and everything.

* * *

**CONFRONTATION**

As he often did when he went to the park to people-watch, Zim ignored everything around him. He wasn't _actually_ people-watching as he claimed to be, whenever he might be questioned, but rather was trying to jump-start his mind into scheming overdrive by giving himself a good and horrible dose of the planet he was set on conquering. Just being outside was often enough to do the trick, so he rarely paid attention to the filthy inhabitants unless he wanted to be _especially_ vengeful about it.

Perhaps this time, however, he should have paid attention, as he could have avoided a foam sword to the back of his head. It hadn't hurt much, given that it was nothing more than foam, but he whirled around regardless, glaring daggers, before having to rub at his eyes to make sure he was seeing correctly. Dib stood before him, laughing at his enemy's 'misfortune' (though that was no surprise), but he was dressed quite oddly, and was actually hanging around with _other people_. People who _weren't_ making fun of him.

While Zim struggled to process this concept, a scantily clad girl called from a ways away, "Hey, Dib! You can't attack commoners, you're supposed to be Lawful Good, _stupid_!"

"That wasn't in-character!" Dib shouted back at her, poking at Zim with the end of his foam sword and getting an annoyed snarl from the Irken. Before Zim could get in much more than a couple of growled insults, the questionably-clothed girl flounced over, brandishing a long staff clearly made of paper mache.

"You can't _not_ be in-character, you idiot, that's why we're all here!" she reprimanded, bopping him with the end of the shoddily made stick, and at that point Zim recognized her; she was in his class at skool, he knew, but...just _what_ was Jessica doing hanging around with _Dib_? He was the lamest of the lame, but _she_ was at the top of the social ladder! It just didn't add up!

"Just _what_ is going on?!" he snapped then, wanting an explanation for the madness.

Infuriatingly, he was ignored, as Dib had taken to squabbling with the blonde, while the rest of the gathering meandered over to see just what the cause for the interruption was. "Oh, come on! He's _clearly_ an enemy! He could be a kobold or something!"

Jessica propped her free hand on her hip, the one holding the staff ramming the end of it down against the grass in a motion that clearly showed disagreement (though it also chipped off some of the mock weapon's hastily done paint job). "_Please_! If anything, he'd be more of a goblin! At least _they're_ green!" she shot back, getting a couple of murmured agreements from those nearby, all of whom were dressed just as strangely. Zim looked back and forth between the two debaters, baffled; now they were spouting nonsense words! And everyone else clearly understood them!

"No, no, kobold works better!" Dib insisted, waving the arm holding the foam sword and ending up poking Zim with the end of it again, though this time accidentally.

Either way, it was annoying, and the Irken shoved his enemy hard enough to send him stumbling, screeching, "What are you _talking_ about, you stupid wormbaby?! _Explain_ to Zim!"

Regaining his footing, Dib glared at him, and before Jessica could say anything, he smirked and replied smugly, "You are a level one kobold, and if you don't run to get reinforcements from your beloved King Torg-" At that, most of the surrounding group muttered something that sounded like 'all hail King Torg', further baffling the Irken. "-I am going to smite you, because you're a horrible evil little creature, and smiting is what I do to horrible evil little creatures."

Zim could only stare; somehow, it was making even _less_ sense now. "I'm a..._what_? What did you call Zim?!"

"KILL THE KOBOLD!" Dib hollered, waving his foam sword up in the air. A resounding cheer of agreement rose up from the group, while Jessica simply smacked a gloved hand to her forehead, and before Zim could get in so much as one more confused sound, Dib had smacked him soundly between the eyes with his toy weapon, proclaiming loudly, "I SHALT SMITE THEE, EVILDOER!"

"What?!" Zim exclaimed helplessly, waving his arms in front of his face in a frantic attempt to fend off further blows as Dib swung away at him. "What are you doing?! Why are you talking like that?! _Desist immediately!_"

Jessica took that moment to intervene, jumping between the two boys and managing to catch hold of Dib's foam weapon, yanking on it; she was clearly trying to get it away from him, though all it managed to do was make him stumble a bit. "I swear, Dib, sometimes you're _too_ good at playing your class, because this is just typical behavior for a Paladin – LAWFUL _STUPID_!" she yelled at him, finally managing to pull the fake sword away from him after rapping him on the head with her paper mache quarterstaff a couple of times.

Gingerly rubbing at where he'd been hit and directing a grumpy look in Zim's direction, Dib gave a little shrug. "Yeah, okay, I guess that was a bit out of line," he admitted before a little grin spread on his face. "So how many experience points do I get for killing Zim?"

"You'll be lucky to not _lose_ any!" Jessica snapped, tossing the foam sword back at him and turning to regard Zim. "Look, I'm sorry about that, but you _did_ kind of wander over into our playing field..."

At first the Irken just glared over at Dib, then realized that he was being addressed and looked up at Jessica, only barely listening when he caught on to the fact that she thought it more his fault than anything. "Playing field?" he echoed blankly, that being the only thing of interest that had come out of her mouth; it explained a little bit, at least, and he guessed that the whole gathering was all part of some sort of bizarre game.

Jessica looked a bit uncomfortable all of a sudden, which was altogether shocking, considering she'd been walking around in a bikini top and a skirt that had slits going all the way up to her hips. Not to mention that she was carrying around a paper mache staff. "Um, yeah. Playing field," she confirmed, apparently not wanting to go any further than that.

Of course, Zim wanted answers, and wasn't about to let her get off _that_ easily. "For what?" he demanded, ignoring Dib's mocking chortle.

"A larp," she replied hesitantly, seeming quite like she hoped he wouldn't know what that meant and also that he wouldn't ask if he didn't. The expression on his face, however, showed that further clarification was required, else he would likely start yelling, and with an aggravated grumble, Jessica added flatly, "Live-action roleplay."

His only response was an uninterested 'oh', as he was now more concerned with directing odd looks at all the players; they could all guess that he found the concept strange, if he even entirely understood it.

When Zim's gaze flicked between Dib and herself, a slight hint of amusement starting to show on his face, Jessica spoke up sharply. "If you tell anyone at skool about this, you are _dead_. Got that?" She crossed her arms and put on her best threatening glare, only to have it waved off – Zim was quite used to such looks, and from much more talented glare-givers. Dib and his sister, for example.

"Yes, yes, whatever. It's not even worth the glorious time of _Zim_," he huffed, returning the ugly look Dib shot his way. He seemed to come to a decision at that point, and his tone betrayed irritation as he continued, "All things considered, however, I'm not going to allow the Dib-monkey to hit Zim without retaliation!"

Before the two boys could even start a scuffle, however, Jessica darted between them again, arms splayed out. "Hold it! We're in the middle of a game, so if you _really_ want to fight with him, you're going to have to either wait, or..." She grimaced a bit, and everyone else seemed to catch her drift and exchanged looks of interest; behind her, Dib gave an annoyed groan.

"Or _what_?" Zim prompted tersely.

"Or, if everyone else is fine with it, you can join in," Jessica finished, distaste obvious, especially so when a few members of the gathering expressed their consent to a plausible new addition. She ignored Dib's grumbled complaints, however, as those were to be expected; she, however, would not be judgmental, no matter how annoying Zim was. They tolerated Dib, after all, and he'd made for an excellent Paladin. "So what do you say?"

The Irken blinked, glanced around at the group of players, then made a strange face; for a moment they were all under the impression that he was about to decline, before he finally shrugged. "Very well. What do I do?"

"Uh, well," Jessica started to reply, apparently just as surprised that Zim had agreed, and again ignoring Dib's whines, stated simply, "You can be a wizard, the other team doesn't have one yet."

"A wizard?" Zim echoed, the word meaning nothing to him.

"Yeah, but not a ninja," Dib piped up, getting a mixture of laughs and groans from other players.

Jessica ignored him, and clarified, "A magic user. We all start at third level, but I can explain that to you later if you want to keep playing, and we can figure out your character's stats." This meant even less to Zim than 'wizard' did, but he nodded anyway, wanting to get it over with so he could start beating Dib up for daring to hit him. "We're not really that big on the rules, though, we're just doing this for fun. The stats are just for reference if we do anything plot-related."

"This..._larp-_thing has a story?"

"Sort of. We're in the middle of a war right now, though, so it's mostly just battles." Someone at the back of the group called something that sounded like 'It was Dib's fault!', and another wave of mixed laughter and groans swept over the group, Dib grinning sheepishly.

"Oh. War is nice," Zim responded offhandedly. The blonde fixed him with a strange look, but quickly shrugged it off; comments like that were to be expected from the weird green kid. Quite normal, really. "So how can I beat Dib?" he asked with a little too much interest. Clearly he'd only agreed to play so he could torment his enemy, but it would be funny anyway, so Jessica didn't bother to reprimand him.

"Well, there's not much you can do until we choose your spells when we're rolling up your stats and stuff, and that's assuming you want to join the group _after_ today," Jessica replied, resting her quarterstaff over her shoulder. "For now, though, I guess you can just stick to Magic Missile. That's pretty basic."

Dib grumbled to himself, "Yeah, and it means I'll have to stand still so he can hit me, cuz it's not supposed to miss." A couple of players chuckled, though they seemed more sympathetic than anything.

Having heard the boy's complaint, Zim smirked. "Good!" he decided. "And if Zim continues this...larping. How would I best defeat Dib then?"

"If you _really_ want to beat him, you're going to have to learn the rules and think like a Munchkin," Jessica informed him.

A little spasm of anger shook the Irken's frame then, and he immediately screeched, "YOU DARE SUGGEST ZIM IS _SHORT_?!"

The blonde winced at the sheer piercing volume of his voice, then waved her free hand in front of her in a sort of pacifying manner. "No, no, that's not what it means!" she exclaimed. "It's just a game term! It doesn't mean you're short! Oh, just...never mind! Forget it, and let's just get started!"

Vaguely appeased, though clearly still quite annoyed, Zim nodded sharply. "Very well, then! What shall I use for weapons?"

"Oh, the tennis balls are over there," Jessica supplied with a wave of her staff over to the mentioned objects, all crammed together in a plastic bag.

"Tennis balls?"

"Yeah. For Magic Missiles."

Dib let out another groan when Zim's expression brightened, the Irken darting over to grab a handful; this was going to hurt. When the Irken headed back over with the whole bag in hand, he turned pleadingly to Jessica. "He can't use _that_ many, can he?" he asked helplessly.

"Not really, but I'll give him a break. He's new to this," Jessica replied with a wonderfully false sweet smile; watching Dib get pummeled with tennis balls was going to be quite funny, oh yes. Disregarding his defeated sigh and whine of 'ah, _man_!', she then turned to the rest of the gathered throng. "Okay, everyone, back to your positions! Zim-" She motioned between him and a couple of people who were breaking off from the rest of the group. "-you'll be on their side, so go with them. Dib-"

"Yeah, yeah, I know what to do!" he told her, shouldering his foam sword and jogging after his team members as they headed back to where they'd been before the interruption.

"All right!" Zim heard Jessica call as he joined his own little squad, wondering if he could persuade them to make him leader, then figuring it might be prudent to actually listen to whatever she was yelling about. "Terrance's team, if any of you die or need healing, refer to Joshua! My team, same to Greg, and if you all haven't forgotten that I started out as a Cleric before taking levels in Sorceress, you can come to me – if you _have_ forgotten, you can just forget it and stay dead!"

Oh, that was interesting, Zim thought; you could _die_ in this game? How fun! Pulling out a tennis ball from the bag, he grinned over at Dib, who glared back and made as threatening a motion as possible, given that the motion was made with a relatively harmless foam sword.

"LET THE BATTLE RESUME!"

Already, Zim felt he could get used to this. He'd greatly missed the training simulations back in the Academy, and while this couldn't be all that close to them, it had its similarities. He cackled wildly when he managed to bounce the first tennis ball off of Dib's giant forehead; of course, it was a very easy target. The boy hissed something at him that seemed to have no meaning, but from his tone sounded quite like a curse of some sort, and instinctively dodged the next thrown ball, only to have someone nearby shout to him, "_Hey_, Magic Missile can't miss!"

"Who's team are you on, Greg?!" Dib snapped back, frustrated, as he forced himself to stand still enough to let Zim try again, leaving a sore spot on his shoulder. Before the Irken could throw another, however, he launched himself forward, foam sword brandished high. "Prepare for your end at my righteous hands, foul wizard!"

He received another tennis ball, this time to the face, but wasn't deterred, and began to swing wildly at his nemesis; though, for all accounts and purposes he could have been swinging a string of yarn at him for all Zim cared, as the 'Magic Missiles' kept coming. And he had been right in his earlier guess – it _did_ hurt.

A girl on Zim's team was giggling madly, calling to the others, "Our wizard's a _tank_!" getting several of them to burst out laughing at such an ironic statement. Zim, however, heard none of this, and likely wouldn't have understood in the first place.

He was more interested in chucking tennis balls at Dib's stupid face, anyway.

* * *

Man, I'm so lame. It's awesome. XD

Seriously though, I think Dib would make an awesome Paladin.

Fun facts: Joshua is the name of an actual cleric in the campaign I play in, while Terrance is a ranger and leader of the group in said campaign. Meanwhile, Greg refers to D&D Greg from Homestar Runner. Again, couldn't help it.

Additional note: Updates will be sporadic from this point, due to a slight bout of writer's block. There's only eight prompts left in the current list, though, so it shouldn't be long. I'll possibly take a little break after that so as to build up a backlog of prompts. xD

And finally, thanks to all of you for your lovely reviews - they make me quite the happy Krys, mmhmm!


	43. Broken

Wow, I actually finished one in time for a daily update. It came out longer than I'd intended, but that's okay. I like it anyway.

Warnings (or awesomes, depending on your tastes): Rather obvious jibe at the Twilight series somewhere, as well as a scene of general semi-randomness. Also, there's a very very brief hint of non-prompt-canon ZADR (this will make sense upon reading).

* * *

**BROKEN**

"Heya, Master!"

"Go away, _GIR_! This is a very important piece of my newest, and most _amazing_, plan to rid myself of that horrible _Dib_-thing, and I won't have you messing it up this time!"

"I like the Dib-thing, he's got a big funny head and his hair goes ZOOM!"

"Uh-huh."

"Hey, what's this thing do?"

"Don't touch anything! You'll – WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH FOODS DOWN HERE?! GET THAT OUT OF HERE!"

"Aww, why you hates my foods? My foods love you, Master! SEE?"

_Splat!_

_Sizzle – spark – crackle_

"YOU INSIPID FOOL! WHAT HAVE YOU _DONE_?!"

"Ooooooopsiiiie..."

"You HORRIBLE robot! Do you have _any _idea how-"

_Krrrrrrrrrack!_

...

"...Master?"

* * *

When Dib had broken into his enemy's base in yet another attempt to capture footage of him (or just capture him, whichever worked), he hadn't expected to find it absolutely devoid of his target. A little unnerved, he'd wandered throughout the various levels and weaved in and out of countless different labs all used for separate things, yet he hadn't spotted hide nor antenna of his alien nemesis.

He'd heard GIR, somewhere, but he wasn't all too concerned about the robot; it typically wasn't a threat unless it was ordered to be so, and even then it didn't pose much trouble. He also, when he listened hard enough, heard the subtle humming of the computer that kept the base running, and figured it would be the best bet to find out what was going on.

"Computer?"

A lengthy silence, but the hum grew somewhat louder, to where he could hear it without specifically trying to. Then, astoundingly, a weary voice emanated from seemingly everywhere.

* * *

Someone was in the base. Someone was trying to access the computer – _his_ computer! – they weren't supposed to! The computer only responded to _his_ call, to _his_ commands, unless something had happened to where he wasn't able to-

Zim's thought process trailed off as he struggled to feel angry, but instead felt quite relaxed, almost as though he was floating; he wasn't sure where exactly he was, or when or _what_ he was, even. He _did_ know that it was very hard to get angry at small things all of a sudden. He felt...coherent, more so than he'd been in a while. More so than he'd ever been.

The someone was probably Dib, here to expose him. Ah, well.

Something sparked, and suddenly the feeling of floating vanished. Suddenly he could feel anger again.

_Someone was in his base._

* * *

"**I really don't think I'm supposed to answer to you, but the Master is preoccupied right now, so...whatever. What do you want, BigHead?"**

Ignoring the designation, though he did subconsciously rub at the side of his head (which was _not_ big, thanks), he answered, "I've been looking everywhere for Zim, but, well...not much luck so far. What's he preoccupied with?"

The computer buzzed a bit louder, then replied, **"I'm not sure."**

"Uh...you're not sure?"

"**That's what I said. You fleshy creatures have a real problem with listening, you know?"**

Dib decided to ignore that, too, and tried a different approach. "Okay, well, if you don't know what he's doing, do you at least know where he is? And, if you do, can you take me to whatever level he's on?" He pasted on what he hoped looked like a harmless, friendly smile; it usually worked with GIR, so just _maybe_ it would work with the base's computer.

In a burst of good fortune, the floor underneath him immediately began to descend as one of the base's ever-present elevators.

* * *

Someone was coming towards him – he could tell, somehow. He didn't feel angry now. He just felt dizzy, and sick, and wanted desperately to know why he couldn't move and why he couldn't stop the realities that unfolded and just as quickly crumpled away about him.

He wanted them to stop so badly. Some made him hurt, some made him feel things he shouldn't, some just didn't make sense. _Why wouldn't they stop?_

Maybe whoever was coming would stop them. Was it Dib? Yes...yes, it was Dib, wasn't it...

A new world spread around him, and for some unknown reason the thought of Dib made his 'spooch quiver almost pleasantly; then, the world faded and a new one arose, and the brief and altogether positive sensation immediately turned to a horrible retching, a deeply ingrained and all-encompassing hatred he'd never before felt towards the Dib bursting into life.

Another spark, and the unreasonable amount of hatred was washed away as another reality spiraled about him, making him want to shut his eyes to block it all out.

He couldn't move, though.

And now the word 'Dib' didn't seem to hold any meaning.

* * *

It wasn't long at all before the elevator doors slid open with a hiss and Dib stepped out, catching sight of an open archway from which smoke was emitting. Grinning, and guessing that Zim had messed up on something again (but wondering why there wasn't a lot of loud ranting to go with it), he jogged over to it, peering inside and feeling slightly put out when he found nothing but an odd-looking and giant piece of machinery taking up most of the room. It looked as though something had been spilled on it, and was sparking somewhat; it was likely GIR had been here. Zim never brought snacks or drinks down to where he was working.

Sighing and scratching his head, Dib glanced up at the ceiling. "Hey, Computer? Mind giving me a hint as to where he is?"

"**What do you mean?"**

Dib blinked at that, brow furrowing in confusion. "Uh...what do _you_ mean?"

"**I mean, why do you need a hint? He's in this room."**

Squinting, he looked around again, but still saw nothing, other than that ridiculously huge whatever-it-was. "Pretty sure he's not, Computer."

"**My sensors indicate that he is. ...Sort of."**

"...Sort of?" Dib scratched at his head again, and stepped farther into the room, looking around curiously.

* * *

A new universe, so similar to his own, and the concept of 'Dib' and what that entailed was thrown into sharp relief without warning. He could _hear_ him! The Dib was nearby, moving and talking and _trying to find him_!

Zim wanted more than anything to yell for his friend – Friend? That wasn't right, was it? – but could do nothing, only rant and rage in his mind before reality lurched again.

He felt the usual annoyance towards the Dib now, and felt better about that, hoping it would remain that way until things could be put right. His rival – yes, that sounded so much better – was closing in, all he had to do was-

* * *

"Hey, Computer, what's this thing do?"

"**I dunno. I just know GIR messed it up and that Master started yelling."**

"Then what?"

"**Uh...he...**_**stopped**_** yelling?"**

Well, _that_ didn't make any sense. Zim never just _stopped_ yelling. And why was the base's A.I. saying the alien was here, when he clearly wasn't? Dib frowned and trailed a hand over the smooth metal curve of the machine's control panel. "Why'd he stop yelling?"

There was that insistent humming from everywhere as the question was processed, and finally the computer answered, **"He became preoccupied."**

"But he's still here, in this room?"

"**Yeah, I keep saying that. Would you try listening to me for once? Might be a good idea. I'm pretty sure I know what I'm talking about, because my brain's the size of a planet." **A tiny measured pause passed, and then it added, **"Though, from the size of your head, maybe yours is, too."**

Dib felt the reflexive urge to snap at the computer for mocking the size of his head, but the jibe had also come with a potential compliment, so he replied cheekily, "Oh, I'm sure my brain's nowhere near as big as yours, but it's still pretty big."

"**...I guess I can see why Master doesn't like you." **Despite the computer's flat tone, Dib thought he could catch a hint of approval, and almost wanted to laugh. Instead, he turned back to the console.

**

* * *

**

Why wasn't he _doing_ anything?!

Zim snarled mentally, unable to do it any other way, and tried to ignore the current reality he'd been encompassed in. Bubbles floated about him, giggling merrily, and somewhere off in the distance, this world's Dib pranced about in a frilly plaid tutu tossing chocolate chip enchiladas to passing strangers. He had a feeling that this particular Dib was a girl, which was pretty weird – definitely much weirder than the giggling bubbles.

He lost focus on whatever the real Dib was doing when the girl Dib tied a spotty furiously fuchsia and obnoxiously orange bonnet over his head, babbling hapless nonsense before skipping off into a sweetly green sunset with the giggly bubbles, which had recently turned into horribly ugly vampires that sparkled for no apparent reason. For some reason Zim wanted to set them on fire.

Though strangely not particularly annoyed, he frowned after the girl Dib, getting a nasty feeling that he wasn't exactly male here, either. That was just as equally weird as everything else in this reality – not that he had anything against females. He just preferred being male.

He'd quite like to be male again, thank you.

Another spark, and quite suddenly pain slammed its way into most of his face.

"OW."

He heard someone start laughing, and while he _did _feel a bit of relief when it sounded very much like Dib and very much male, he also felt very very angry. That was good. Anger was good, because anger was normal.

Sitting up – he could _move_ again, how quaint! – Zim rubbed at the spots on his face that hurt most and glared up at his rival, who was currently doubled over with laughter, hand on the machine's power button. Dib quickly forced himself to calm down, catching the death-promising look, and despite his breathlessness and occasional chuckle managed, "Just what the heck were you trying to _make_?"

Zim's mouth snapped shut – he'd been about to toss out a couple of randomly chosen insults – and he continued to glare for a while before he answered curtly, "An alternate reality generator."

Dib gave another whoop of laughter. "What _for_?!"

"Zim was intending on replacing _you_ with a much less _horrible_ Dib," he growled, pushing himself to his feet, and as his nemesis simply continued to giggle uncontrollably, Zim added sourly, "I believe the girly prancey Dib of frillyness will suffice."

To his dismay, Dib just laughed even harder.

* * *

Considering Zim's luck, the girly Dib is probably even more annoying. ...I guess she's at least nicer, though.


	44. Testament

I feel kind of meh about this one. But, it was either this or another religious whatever, and I didn't feel like doing another one of those. So...yeah.

By the way, sorry about the super-late update, guys. I've been busy working on commissions and being lazy when I wasn't working on commissions. Seeing as it was mostly the latter, the apology is necessary. 8D;

* * *

**TESTAMENT**

For the ninth day in a row, Dib perched on the lowest branch of the closest tree to the base of an alien invader, spy goggles strapped on and a notepad and pen in either hand, as he waited for an opening that he could take advantage of.

For the one-thousand-eight-hundred-and-twenty-sixth day in a row, Zim perched before the main console of his base's computer, elbows against the metal and fingers steepled in front of him, as he brainstormed on how to best bring about the end of the human race.

They both had very different objectives, of course, but when one really thought about it, their _true_ goals weren't very far apart.

Zim struggled to earn the recognition of his Tallests, and the glowing admiration of the entire Irken race, something he'd always believed he rightfully deserved. He knew he was worthy.

Dib struggled to gain the respect of his peers and his own family, and the glory that would come with the proof of his sanity, something he believed shouldn't even have to be questioned. He knew he was _right_.

Neither knew of the other's actual intent, of course. To Dib, Zim was simply the evil alien conqueror bent on destroying his race. To Zim, Dib was simply another obstacle bent on slicing him open and running filthy hands through his superior guts. Neither questioned this, because neither could afford to.

It had to remain black and white. Good and evil – night and day. If they strayed from that, they risked coexisting in neutral gray, where they both knew exactly what the enemy truly wanted.

And they didn't want to have anything in common.

They just wanted to prove themselves.

* * *

Really, it's not so much the writing that makes me 'meh' about this than it is the overall concept. I must see this too much. Makes me wonder why I even wrote for it. I must like tormenting myself or something.


	45. Gone

I rather had fun with this one, even if it's not all that great.

* * *

**GONE**

The weekend, with the typical schedule. Dib got up (later than he'd intended, as was not uncommon), showered, brushed his teeth, got dressed, and went downstairs to find that Gaz had once again eaten the last of the cereal. He never let that bother him, though. Instead, he simply opened the fridge for a quick glass of milk or orange juice; they were out of milk again, so he was stuck drinking juice and grimacing at the nasty taste that resulted.

He wondered again why he bothered brushing his teeth before breakfast, anyway.

He shrugged that off, too; habits, so hard to break. He'd probably do the same thing tomorrow, whether he wanted to or not, so he simply grabbed a piece of bread to mask the aftertaste and plopped down on the couch to wait for the ten o' clock showing of Mysterious Mysteries. It wasn't long before Gaz joined him, paying more attention to her game than to what he was doing; later, upon realizing what show had just come on, she gave a grunt of annoyance and left quickly. Dib wasn't sure why she always did this, but chalked it up to force of habit yet again.

He might have been alarmed by how well he could more or less predict how the days would go by, but he rarely thought about it. It wasn't exactly repetitive, just...familiar. There wasn't any set schedule, just longtime habits that made it seem so. It was comforting, in a way.

So, once the show was over, Dib pulled on his trenchcoat and tucked a camera into his pockets, along with a variety of other tools that might come in handy, and headed out the door towards the neighborhood he visited every weekend.

It wasn't a far walk, no more than ten minutes, if even that. He'd never thought to time it before, as it likely didn't matter, but today he decided that perhaps getting there faster might be a good idea, so he took to jogging instead. He had no idea what Zim could be up to this time, as his enemy had been suspiciously tight-lipped about it over the past skool week.

When he turned the last corner, everything seemed to stop.

Habits and schedules suddenly didn't matter, because the very thing they'd come to revolve around over the past couple of years was nowhere to be found.

The lot that had held Zim's base was empty.

For a long while, Dib just stared. Then, he ran the remaining distance, wondering if the Irken was trying to pull some grand prank on him. Even as he stepped onto the grass, he could tell otherwise; overnight, it seemed, everything that had been alien had vanished.

At the very center of the lot, he found a deep hole just wide enough for him to crawl down. At first he was even tempted to try, until he pulled a flashlight from his pocket and learned just how deep it really was; from this single point of entry, below the surface lay a vast network of tunnels and caves where an alien base had once been hidden away. Overcome by an odd sense of vertigo, just from knowing what he was standing over, Dib backed up until his shoes met the concrete, eyes wide in disbelief.

And then, after a long silence, he started to laugh. It was over! All his struggles and the pain that came with them, all of it was done, and he stood as the victor! Zim had _left_!

Dib didn't know why, and didn't care. All that mattered was that the Irken had packed up and most likely left Earth altogether, and he hoped it was for good. Still laughing, unable to stop, he turned his back on the empty lot and started running, wanting to relay the great news to Gaz.

For what seemed like hours, his shoes pounded against the sidewalk, and when he burst into his house with his grin seeming to split his face and high-pitched giggles still escaping him, Gaz actually dropped her handheld in shock. "We won, Gaz! Zim gave up!"

Silence met this statement at first, before Gaz's eyes narrowed back to their usual squint and she frowned. "He _gave up_?" was her only reply, and it sounded skeptical.

"Well, I dunno. But he left, I know that for sure." He couldn't stop grinning, especially when he pulled his little sister into a big hug and she actually _let_ him..._without_ decking him in the ribs! "The Earth is _safe_! This is just...wow! It's gotta be the greatest thing that could happen!"

When Dib finally let her go, Gaz brushed herself off, squinting up at him. Then, she frowned again. "Whatever. Just don't hug me again...and go wash your face or something, you're all blotchy. Weirdo."

"Huh?"

"You've been crying, stupid. What, you didn't notice?"

"Oh, come on, Gaz! I've been _laughing _since I found out, I just have to calm down a little so I can breathe." That said, the boy bounded over to and up the stairs, taking the steps two by two and humming joyfully, though he sounded strained and indeed out of breath. Gaz watched him go, quiet as always, before she simply shook her head and went back to her game.

Upstairs, Dib hurried into his room, grinning around at the familiar space; the smile faded somewhat when he noticed that a lot of the stuff he'd hung up on his walls and scattered around his desk had something to do with his former enemy. He'd have to clean everything out, what a pain! Already feeling exhausted, he rubbed at his forehead with the back of his hand, frowning a little at the thin layer of sweat from his earlier running. Perhaps he'd wash his face after all.

Backtracking out to the hallway and to the bathroom, he flicked on the light and was about to turn on the water when he caught sight of his reflection. His eyes and cheeks really _were_ red, he noticed, and as he turned the knob for cold water he muttered to himself, "I just need to calm down...all that running and laughing..."

He wasn't looking forward to throwing all his notes away, or the boxes of photos and video tapes that had been building up. But, none of it mattered now. Zim had left.

_Zim had left._

Leaning over the sink, Dib's breath caught in his throat, and then suddenly his strength was gone and he was sliding down to the floor, choked sobs escaping him and fresh tears streaming down his cheeks.

There had been no explanations. No admissions of defeat. _Nothing_.

Zim hadn't even said good-bye.

* * *

Aww, don't be sad, Dib; he's probably just moved to another city to get away from you. (Ah, yeah, that probably doesn't help...)


	46. Plus

This wasn't originally supposed to be so long, but again, I got too into it. XD It's a follow-up on a previous prompt - 'Young'. I couldn't resist, really. And it does tie in with the prompt title; honestly, it does.

Warnings: M-preg (remember, NOT the fun kind), birth scene, blood, alien hybrids, highly dysfunctional family. Some might be able to squeeze some slashy hints out of it if they look hard enough, but it's really not meant to be anything even _close _to ZADR. Hopefully I managed to write it properly to where the non-ZADR is apparent, but if not, it would at least have to be highly one-sided. Zim is..._pretty _angry (not to mention spiteful) throughout most of this thing. xD

* * *

**PLUS**

It had been several months since he had last seen Zim. And, considering what had happened during that brief visit, Dib wasn't sure if he really _wanted_ to see the alien again.

It still didn't make sense to him. Zim – _pregnant?_ How _could_ it make sense?

Regardless of the logistics, the alien obviously _was_ with child – or _smeets_, as he invariably called them – and he expected the accidental and previously unwitting father to do his part in the rearing process. Dib grimaced at that thought and shook his head; if he'd known that messing with Zim's medical equipment could result in something like _this_, he never would have touched it in the first place! And it would have been nice if the Irken hadn't vanished for a while before appearing out of nowhere, heavy with child and in the worst possible mood.

Heavy with _smeet_, Dib corrected himself sullenly; if Zim ever caught him referring to them with such human words as 'babies' or 'children', he'd quite likely flip out.

A cup was suddenly pushed into his hand, and the teen jumped in surprise, almost dropping it. GIR peered up at him with a goofy grin on his face as usual, pointing to the cup and saying cheerily, "Master told me to give you that so's you don't get all pukey, cuz that'd be _reeeeeal _gross!" He gave a high-pitched giggle at that, arms flailing as he hopped from foot to foot in a strange dance.

Dib stared down into the cup, which contained some sort of thick, soupy liquid, and felt his stomach lurch unpleasantly. He was tempted to drop it, but in his current position, he'd probably just end up getting it all over himself. He definitely wasn't going to drink it – not that he could, anyway. "Right. Hey, uh, can you untie me? I have to be...uh...anywhere but here." Usually asking GIR for things worked out in his favor, but in this most unfortunate of cases, the robot shook his head.

"Master'd be _real_ mad and yell a whole lot. He says you gotta stay or the kiddies'll be all sad! I don't wants the kiddies to be sad!" GIR pouted, before he perked up almost instantly. "Oooooh, and I'm s'pposed to take you to 'em!"

"No, wait! GIR, you know, on second thought, maybe staying here and being tied up isn't so bad!"

GIR let out a long, drawn out whine that grated on the teen's eardrums before exclaiming, "I gotta takes you to 'em! I'ma do that right now!" Without waiting for any more protests or complaints, the robot picked Dib up, the chair he was tied to and everything, and skipped off towards the med bay, giggling madly the entire way.

Five minutes later, for the first time in several months, Dib was staring at the face of his mortal enemy. And, immediately, he found himself wishing he'd been able to drink whatever was in the cup still in his hand. Either it would soothe the nasty feeling in his gut, or it would kill him. Either would suffice, really.

Antennae flattened in displeasure, Zim glared back at him, though his eyes were somewhat glazed. He was rested in a sitting position on something that resembled a hospital bed, one clawed hand tightly gripping the armrest while the other dug into the skin of his bloated belly. "This is all your fault," the Irken hissed, shifting in discomfort.

Dib looked away hastily, feeling sick, and focused on watching GIR dance around; it was better than seeing his nemesis, stretched out on the sterile sheets in the throes of labor, clothed only in a light robe. He gripped the cup almost as if it were a lifeline, and couldn't think of anything he could possibly say. He wasn't going to apologize, that was for sure.

Whatever the alien was expecting him to say apparently wasn't too important, as he'd zeroed in on the object the teen was still holding. "Computer. Untie the Dib-thing," he ordered, managing to sound more or less unaffected by the stabbing pains in his 'spooch. The human stared up at him in surprise, until Zim continued. "And seal the exits. I won't have him escaping his punishment!"

"Punishment?" Dib asked as the cords slipped away from him, and while rubbing at his sore wrist with his free hand, he added in disbelief, "You just had the computer untie me, and you can't really do much to me in this state. How is this _punishment_?"

Zim watched him levelly for a few moments, then motioned to the cup. "Drink it. You'll need it, and I don't want you spewing any of your vile contents on me." He shifted in discomfort again, his robe falling open around his hips before Dib could look away; there was _nothing there_. For a moment the teen just stared in shock, then he quickly lifted the cup to his mouth, if only to give himself a way to block out the sight. Zim nodded in curt satisfaction before he relaxed as best he could against the angled back of the bed, the cavity in its center fitting the Irken's PAK snugly and allowing him to lay comfortably.

He remained silent until Dib finished the mixture, the only sound escaping him being the occasional grunt of pain, and once the human tossed the cup aside, he bit out grudgingly, "Zim requires your assistance."

"I'm not helping you," Dib stated flatly.

"Then the smeets will die," Zim replied, voice sickeningly sweet. His gaze was cold, though, and his eyes narrowed as he continued. "I would not survive that. And as I have ordered the computer to seal all the exits, you will be trapped down here, doomed to die along with me." His mouth twisted into a sick grin, baring the strange zipper-like teeth, and his tone turned harsh and mocking. "Face it, Dib-human; you have no other choice."

Dib bit at his lip, eyes averted, before a grating sigh escaped him. "What do I have to do?" he asked dully.

"It is simple," Zim responded, tracing a line across the underside of his bulging abdomen with one claw. "The incision will be made here, and _you_ must extract the smeets. The computer cannot be given this task, as it will kill them; it views them as little more than parasites." Despite the words, a hint of amusement was evident in his expression when he glanced up at Dib. "Which they are, but...Zim wants them alive."

"Of course," Dib huffed in exasperation. That was the main part of his 'punishment', after all. Speaking of which... "You do realize you're trusting me to poke around your guts, right? If you're trying to make me suffer, you're _really _bad at it so far, because I've been wanting to do that for _years_."

Zim scoffed, though he ended up wincing a bit at the action. "Zim is not trusting you with _anything_. I will be making the incision _myself_, and the only thing you will be doing is taking out your horrible little _demon _spawn. Try anything funny and you'll be vaporized – you're in _my_ base, stink creature. Don't forget that."

Hearing the low hum of some bit of machinery grow slightly louder behind him, and getting the awful feeling that whatever it was had the capability to back up Zim's threat, Dib swallowed nervously and just nodded. He complied when the Irken gestured for him to stand nearby, and he felt somewhat thankful for whatever he'd been given to drink when, without any warning whatsoever, his nemesis produced a slender blade and cleanly sliced through the skin of his own belly. "Are you crazy?!" Dib screeched in horror. "What about pain-killers?!"

"Silence!" Zim snarled, the corners of his eyes wet and the claws of his free hand digging into the fabric of the bed. For a moment he seemed to strain for air, muscles tense and expression wracked with agony, before the scalpel was thrown aside and he managed to growl, "The only drugs I have would damage the smeets. And this pain..._PAH_! This is nothing! I am an _Invader_, Dib – an elite soldier! I...I can handle this, so just-" He broke off to drag in a ragged gasp, one hand pressing beneath the wound and getting soaked in the opaque pink liquid dribbling from it.

Dib stared helplessly, unable to move until the Irken recovered long enough to shriek a choice phrase at him.

"_Get these things out of me!_"

It wasn't so much the idea of his enemy dying that brought him to obey as it was the fact that, with Zim's death, he'd be trapped down in the labs to slowly starve. He didn't consider the fate of the smeets; so far they held as much importance to him as they did to Zim. In the Irken's own words, they were just _things_. To Dib, they were a source of awkwardness and humiliation, and would continue to be so once they were brought into the world, because to Zim, they were just means to an end.

Things. Nothing but things.

Until one was in Dib's hand, tiny, slicked with Irken blood, and squirming ever-so-slightly, trying to draw in that first breath.

That made them real.

Eyes wide, he presented the smeet to Zim, who stared almost vacantly for a moment. Then, he managed a nod, lifted a shaky hand to wipe off some of the fluid coating it – her, Dib realized suddenly, having noticed the subtle curl of antennae – before motioning for her to be placed into a small monitoring unit, likely of the Irken's own creation. The moment she was settled inside, the device hooked tiny wires onto the newborn's skin and administered a slight jolt, letting the smeet get her first taste of air, which she promptly used to start bawling.

Zim gave a feeble groan at the sudden onslaught of noise, but when no other signs of protest came, the entire process was repeated; the second smeet was male, and quieter than his sister, but still just as fussy. Once it was done, Dib collapsed into the chair he'd been brought in on, exhausted and wanting to rest his head in his hands, but avoiding it due to the slowly drying pink liquid coating them. "Still alive, Zim?" he prompted wearily, not sure if he'd been heard over the cries of the newborn smeets.

"Mostly," the Irken managed tremulously, voice hardly more than a whisper; Dib hadn't caught whatever he'd said, but the fact that he was able to say anything at all answered his question. The computer had taken to tending the self-inflicted incision, but it could do little for all the blood Zim had lost; the alien would be weak for a while, until his PAK was able to fully compensate for it.

With a slight sigh, Dib stood once more and headed to the monitoring units, peering down into them at the infants. The girl had quieted, and simply stared back up at her father with wide eyes – they were a complete and dark pinkish red, just like Zim's. Her brother, meanwhile, was still whimpering and squirming fussily, latching onto the teen's hand when he reached in to try to calm him. Fortunately unlike his twin, his fingers lacked the sharp claw-like design of a typical Irken, but his grip was surprisingly tight, and he kept hold of his father's hand as he cried. Without even meaning to, Dib found himself smiling; even if he hadn't intended to, he'd helped bring these tiny little beings into the world.

He jumped, startled, when he realized that Zim was next to him. The alien looked half-dead, but the exhaustion in the body clearly didn't extend to the cold mechanical workings of the PAK, for the spiderlegs were extended and holding him aloft easily as he examined the smeets. After a lengthy silence, one hand subconsciously rubbing at his already mostly-healed scar, he concluded blandly, "They're hideous."

Dib looked back down at them, frowning. He thought they were kind of cute, albeit in a weird way. Otherwise they really were kind of ugly; their human features didn't exactly flow too well into that of the Irken. "I think they're hideously adorable," he decided, ignoring the unimpressed glance Zim directed at him.

"I'm going to use them to take over Earth," the Irken reminded him.

"I'll just ruin that plan, too," Dib responded with an unconcerned little shrug. "They'll probably like me better than you, anyway."

"They're _my _smeets. Your assistance in their rearing is limited to dookie duty and Zim using you to point out all the flaws in humanity," Zim retorted irritably. "What influence could you _possibly_ have?"

Dib smirked a little, and after a slight pause, he replied simply, "I'm their father."

For the life of him, even after a whole five minutes of wondering about it, Zim couldn't comprehend why that would even matter, and he eventually dismissed it as nothing more than stupid.

Five years later, he came to the conclusion that perhaps he'd gotten in a little over his head.

"_Moooom!_ Nix hid my simulator!"

"Did not! Mom, Kid's a dumb liar!"

"Nuh-uh! _You're_ a dumb liar!"

"_Moooom! _ Kid called me a dumb liar!"

Growling low in his throat, Zim rested his forehead against the control panel he'd been busy working at, every now and then lightly banging his head against it. When the twins persisted, one tugging at his arm and the other clinging to his neck as they complained and called him by that _revolting_ Earth name, he jumped to his feet and stormed over to the elevator, bringing his smeets along with him. They giggled with glee as he carried them off, argument forgotten, and didn't seem to notice the expression of intense vexation on the face of their 'mother'.

When the elevator reached the main floor, Zim stomped out, through the kitchen and into the living room, where he came to a sharp stop in front of the couch. "How many times do I have to tell you to keep them _out_ of my way when I'm _working_?!" he spat angrily, hands on his hips.

Cheek nestled in hand and elbow against the armrest, Dib stared up at him blandly, remote in his other hand. "Do you mind?" he asked, gesturing toward the TV.

"DIB! This isn't some kind of _joke_!" Zim snapped, grabbing for the remote, only to have it quickly pulled back out of his reach.

"Hey, they're _your_ smeets, remember?" Dib replied with a mocking hint to his tone, getting the Irken to grit his teeth. The twins glanced between their parents, then to each other, and quickly let go of their mother; from the looks of things, a raging tantrum was imminent, and it was a good idea not to be latched on to someone who might soon be flailing and screaming.

Fists clenched and antennae in an aggressive posture, Zim bit out, "I thought we'd come to the agreement that this whole situation was _your_ fault, _Dib_." His eyes narrowed to little more than slits as he glared, silently daring the other to contradict him.

"Yeah, it is," Dib agreed casually, setting the remote aside and leaning back against the couch. "And, just as we agreed, I clean up after them and let you tell them that I'm dumb and smelly. Isn't that right, kids?" He turned to them, all smiles, and they both nodded and clambered up to sit with him, mirroring his pleased expression; Dib almost wanted to laugh, but was careful not to, lest he anger Zim further.

The Irken growled irritably, foot tapping against the tiles. "Smeets..." he started warningly, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Aww, c'mon, Mom, Daddy's right!" Kid piped up, his sister nodding emphatically alongside him.

"Don't call him that!" Zim snarled. "And do _not _refer to me by that dis_gusting_ Earth word!"

"But-"

"SILENCE! You will _obey_ Zim!" the Irken demanded harshly, about to spout off a few more orders when Dib stood and placed his hands on his shoulders. "What do you think you're doing, meat creature?! Release me at once!" He was duly ignored, and the human steered him towards the elevator.

Once the doors slid shut and they began their descent, Dib let the alien go and leaned against the wall. "They're just kids, Zim," he sighed, hands stuffed in his pockets and his gaze on the floor.

Zim glared at him, for a variety of reasons, all of which Dib could list if he really wanted to; challenging his authority, invading his personal space, actually touching him, acting as though he was making mistakes, calling his smeets 'kids'. There were many more reasons, of course, but they would likely spend a whole ten or twenty minutes to list, and Zim was already progressing to the actual argument part of the exchange. "When I was five of your Earth years old, I was already learning how to construct an orbital laser!" he retorted challengingly.

"That's impressive and all, but this isn't Irk."

"Irrelevant! They're _Irken_!"

"They're human, too," Dib reminded him sullenly. Immediately, Zim went quiet, antennae lowering; it was amazing how that one simple fact could have such an affect on him, really. "And they've been on Earth all their lives." Coupled with that simple fact, and the Irken was averting his eyes, shifting his weight uncomfortably from foot to foot.

An awkward silence blanketed the small space before the elevator doors slid back open, and Dib rested an arm around Zim's shoulders, leading him out. "You ruin everything," the Invader muttered, frowning at his feet as they walked.

A slight grin spread on the man's face. "I know," he replied quietly.

"They weren't supposed to like you."

"It was still a good plan," Dib told him, offering a consoling pat. His hand was shrugged away, Zim scowling up at him accusingly. "It was! I'm just better with kids than you are, that's all."

The insinuation that he was better than Zim at anything probably didn't help, but the Irken just let out an exasperated sound. "Whatever. Just...make sure they finish their homework." With that, he continued down the hallway, leaving Dib standing on his own.

When Zim was out of sight, the man sighed lowly and turned back towards the elevator, only to find the twins rushing out at him. "We climbed down the chute!" Nix squealed cheerfully, much to her father's dismay.

"That's...pretty dangerous, sweetie," Dib replied apprehensively, leaning down to pick the two up. They were small enough to where he could carry both with one arm, but they were as energetic as Zim, making it generally difficult, so he scooped them up under either arm instead, bringing them both to giggle happily. "Don't do it again, okay? Just wait for the elevator next time."

"Okay, Daddy!" she chirped, kicking her tiny feet in excitement as Dib started down the hall, heading toward their room.

Kid peered up at him as best he could. "Is Mom still mad at us?" he asked in trepidation, his gold eyes wide at the thought.

Dib shook his head. "Nah, he was more mad at me than at you two. You probably shouldn't have called him 'Mom' to his face, though, you know he hates that," he told him, and the little boy stuck out his tongue a little, getting his father to chuckle. He'd been the one to encourage the behavior in the first place. "So, are you two just about ready for bed? You've got school tomorrow."

"I don't wanna go!" Nix whined. "The teacher smells funny, and that weird Jeef kid is always staring at me!"

"You still play with him at recess, anyway," Kid reminded her.

"Do _not_!"

"Okay, you two, that's enough," Dib cut in before they could get too into their silly debate, plopping them both down onto the metal tiles when he reached their bedroom door. Nix rushed in as soon as it slid open, jumping up on her bed to bounce on it, while Kid hung back to grab Dib's hand and tug him inside. He spent the next half hour with them, simply playing with them and talking to them, something that Zim had never understood.

The Irken knew of commanding, and leadership, and the fine art of giving orders. He knew, too, that as the bearer of his smeets, he had some semblance of control over them. He knew nothing, however, of actually raising a child, and that had been the one key flaw in his plan.

And Dib was more than happy to take advantage of it. It wasn't just because he wanted to make sure Zim couldn't use them to take over the Earth. No, it was more than that. Even though, through some unlucky twist of fate, they were Zim's smeets, nothing could change the fact that they were also Dib's.

And his children deserved better – they deserved to be happy.

"Have you guys finished your homework yet?"

"Aww, _man_!"

Most of the time, that is.

* * *

Fun facts: Though they are quite different here, Nix and Kid previously existed in a not-exactly-ZADR roleplay; there's a couple of random old drawings of the two in my deviantART gallery (the link to which is in my profile), as well as a comic or two (though one is totally OOC). Of course, they were still Zim and Dib's children, but they weren't originally twins; like here, though, they were not born because of any kind of love between the two (rather, because of my roleplay character abusing her author powers to make Zim pregnant - THIS TOTALLY MAKES SENSE). And initially, Nix did in fact have a PAK - she was also rather defective. Kid, on the other hand, is PAK-free (he originally wasn't, but I changed my mind about it XD), and his name wasn't actually Kid in the roleplay; it was just a running gag, because whenever he tried to say what his real name was, something zany would happen to interrupt him. Here, I'm guessing they just started calling him that and it eventually stuck. Or perhaps it means something else in Irken, I dunno. Also, Jeef existed previously as well, and was actually dating teen-Nix. At least, until Zim found out about it and completely freaked. But anyway, yeah. Hooray for fun facts!

One other random fact: When I first wrote this, Nix and Kid mostly referred to Zim as 'keeska', which is the word I usually use as the very ancient and outdated Irken word for 'caregiver'. Not 'mother', of course, just 'caregiver', though it _was _generally used to refer to the bearer of the smeets ('paatchi' being used for the sire). However, seeing as no one but me and a couple of friends know about the word, I thought it might be silly to use it here. Thus, I just had Zim be annoyed about being called by the oh-so-horrible Earth word 'Mom'. This is also amusing to me, though, because unlike the word 'mother', 'keeska' can be used for either gender, as the way I tend to view it, Irkens used to be hermaphrodites a long long time ago. So, when I first wrote this, aside from being called by an Earth word, what Zim was originally more annoyed about was the fact that he was being referred to as a female.

Man, I need to stop rambling so much...


	47. Cold

Saw this idea done recently, and while it had an interesting premise, I found it to be sadly lacking. And since this particular prompt seemed appropriate enough for the topic (thanks to my handy dandy thesaurus), I decided to write my own take on it, with what I believe to be a much more in-character response from Zim. Also, there's no random original character inserted into the mix. That was kind of weird...

Warnings: Mentions of 9/11 and the Holocaust, and Zim's reaction towards them. Please note that his views are extremely different from my own.

* * *

**COLD**

History had never exactly been Dib's favorite class; dates were hard for him to remember when they were about things he didn't find interesting. For instance, he knew the exact year, month, day, and hour of Zim's arrival on Earth (or more specifically, when he'd first met the alien), but the widely accepted fact that the second world war had begun on the first of September in 1939...that was a little harder for him to remember. He felt that such things didn't have any impact on him, beyond the grades he would get for homework and tests, so he didn't really care.

He noticed that Zim seemed to find Earth history rather interesting, though. Throughout class, the invader could often be seen with his face buried in his textbook, expression amused over how often humans fought over the most unimportant things. He'd gotten a huge kick out of discussing it with Dib, ending up laughing so hard that he teared up, all because one human or another had gotten it into their heads that they should try conquering Earth, even though it was their own planet. It was such a non-Irken ideal that Zim couldn't help but laugh about it; really, who would be stupid enough to want to try that?

Dib had to admit, it was kind of silly. He even found himself a little amused by it, laughing along with the Irken; he'd certainly never see Napoleon the same way, that was for sure. But there were some things that Zim addressed so casually, or with that cruel smirk or a dismissive chuckle, that brought Dib to realize just how inhuman his enemy really was. Quite near being a monster, really; he'd already seen him as such, of course, considering what the invader was on his planet to do, but it was more of a subconscious designation. He couldn't really call Zim a monster – and honestly mean it – when the Irken was doing nothing more than reading, or watching TV, or other such things that just seemed so _normal_.

But when it came to the things most people found distasteful, unspeakably awful, or even downright heartbreaking, Zim remained completely unaffected and could even go so far as to show approval. It was at those times, in Dib's mind, that his enemy truly seemed to be nothing more than a monster – just an utterly, inescapably evil creature that needed to be defeated and removed from existence. The first instance, the first time he'd been able to call Zim a monster to his face, and actually mean and believe it with all his heart, had taken place in eighth grade.

Three thousand people had died on that day, from a single terrorist group and a couple of planes. The teacher had wheeled in a television and showed them all the newscast, and while the rest of their peers cried or exchanged horrified looks and whispers, Dib had kept quiet, not sure what to think. He felt bad about it, sure, but it didn't really affect his life otherwise, so he simply sat there in what he liked to think was a respective silence. Then, he glanced over to Zim. At first, he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him; the Invader had his head turned away, mouth covered as he trembled.

Then, a wave of white-hot anger swept over him when the Irken finally turned back to face the front of the room, hand falling away to reveal a grin. He'd been _laughing_ – he thought it was _funny_. Dib had thought to call him out on it, but quickly decided against it; Zim had been trying to cover his amusement, so he obviously wasn't stupid enough to show what he really thought in front of a roomful of crying classmates. At lunch, though, he'd confronted the alien, snarling a few choice insults and wanting to deck him in the face when the only response he got was an imperious smirk and a bored question.

Does it _bother_ you, Dib? Yes, it bothered him. It bothered him that Zim was so inherently cruel that he could laugh about the deaths of innocent people, people he hadn't even known, people who had done absolutely nothing to anger him. Dib knew that the Irken hated humanity, but he'd always thought that it came with the job of being an invader, that it wasn't really anything personal. He couldn't honestly believe that anyone could be so completely at ease with such atrocious acts. He couldn't honestly believe that Zim could be _that_ completely horrible, that he truly lacked any sort of compassion. Until tenth grade History class rolled around, at least.

Unlike in previous grades, where teachers had thought their students too young to handle the in-depth facts and had kept things to vague references or simple names, when the section on World War 2 came around, everything was spelled out. _Everything_. From the rises in power of Mussolini and Hitler, to the Neutrality Act, to the invasion of Poland and the bombings at Pearl Harbor, their teacher spared no detail. All the dates, all the names, what those dates and names entailed. The teacher believed that all of these things were important, and that they should be taught so humanity would be able to avoid similar mistakes in the future.

Dib found it all dreadfully boring, as he'd learned most of it just from the few times he'd watched the history channel, waiting for some show about old haunted houses or other such paranormal stuffs to air. He knew that Zim found the whole lot interesting, though, just because it had to do with war and things blowing up, and Irkens generally approved of such things. It didn't prepare him, however, for the sheer amount of approval his enemy showed once the topic of the Holocaust came up.

From the tallies, eleven to seventeen _million_ people had been slaughtered, and once those figures had been named, Zim had been unable to contain a wicked giggle. Unlike in eighth grade, though, where the tragedy had only just happened and showing his mirth in front of the class would have brought trouble, the most that happened was that a few of their peers shot nasty looks or grumbled insults at the invader. The events of the war had happened too long ago for them to muster up anything more than that, and Zim had always been a weird kid, anyway. Now he was just a weird, Nazi-supporting kid – he even walked in that strange goose-stepping march.

Dib would never forget what the Irken had said when their teacher, somewhat disturbed, asked him to explain himself. Without even skipping a beat, Zim had simply told her that it had been a good idea – in the end, poorly executed, but a good idea nonetheless. Millions of people dead, to make way for a supposed 'master race', and Zim _liked_ that. He _liked_ that a tyrant had taken matters into his own hands, weeding out those believed to be inferior, all for what was claimed to be the betterment of society. It was a skewed and twisted view that couldn't possibly be excused, and Dib knew it, and knew too that just sending the invader off to the counselor wasn't going to fix _anything_.

No counselor could _fix_ Zim, because there was really nothing there to fix; his ideals and beliefs had been ingrained into him over his entire life, had been molded into the millions of Irkens before him. Death and war, genocide and mindless violence; none of it held any sort of meaning to him, because he had been born and programmed to carry out such things. The concepts of life being sacred, of peace and love; they were laughable in his eyes, and nothing was going to change that.

The moment Dib realized that, completely realized and believed it, he stopped thinking that Zim could be anything more than what he'd always thought he was, deep down. Even when the Irken wasn't harming anyone, when he was minding his own business, nothing could change the fact that he needed to be defeated, even killed if necessary. He couldn't be shown mercy or compassion, because he was incapable of showing such things himself. Zim was what he was – a monster, plain and simple – another Holocaust just waiting to happen.

And Dib wasn't going to forgive him for that.

* * *

_Zim_! Too soon! (Okay, yeah, that was pretty freaking horrible of me. I'm sorry. D8)

Now before, I didn't really view Zim as being completely evil like this, even though he does try pretty hard to be. But, seeing as he found his unintentionally destroying half his own race to be impressive, I can't see him doing anything other than laughing about anything horrible that might happen to the human race. So...I'm going to have to agree with Dib here; Zim is a pretty terrible person. Then again, he's also highly defective, so I'm not entirely sure if we can blame him. Hmmmm, what a conundrum!

Brief reference to 'In Short Supply' with the bit about Napoleon, because that fic is pretty darn great, even if the pairing is kind of strange to me. Wonderfully written, too, so...go check it out, guys!


	48. Sick

This is _totally not_ a crossover, guys. But if it _was_, you wouldn't really need to know anything about the other show. Seriously, though, it's not a crossover. (But I may or may not be joking.)

By the way, I'm lame and need to stop writing every single goofy idea that pops into my head. XD

* * *

**SICK**

"You'll feel a lot of pressure, but don't worry, it's completely normal." Laying on his side in a nearly fetal position, Dib let out a small uncomfortable sound and managed a nod, not liking the idea of what the needle against his spine was meant to do. He grimaced when the doctor began to push it into his skin, and clenched his fingers in the bedsheets. "Just relax, okay?"

"Do you guys know what's wrong with me?" the teen asked quietly, trying to distract himself.

In the reflection of the window, he could see the man shaking his head, wavy blond hair fluttering. "We're doing the best we can," he replied, just as the door slid open and another doctor stepped in, every other step accentuated by the thump of a cane.

"Might help if that idiot father of his wasn't trying to throw in random symptoms," the newest arrival complained, closing the door behind him and limping over. "It's probably just meningitis or something boring like that. But thanks to Professor Medical _Genius _over there, now we've got to add _psychosis_ into the mix, even if it's obvious what the real problem is. ...Does that bother you, too?" Whoever the new arrival was, Dib decided he liked him.

The other doctor sighed and simply continued with the procedure, obviously used to such grumblings, so Dib spoke up instead. "You think my dad's wrong?"

There was a brief pause, and he got the feeling that the stranger was rather unimpressed by the question. Then the man responded, "I said he was an idiot, didn't I? Or does that mean something different nowadays? ...Hmm." On second thought, perhaps deciding to like this new doctor right away wasn't a good idea.

"He thinks the planet's being invaded by aliens," the blond informed his coworker, and Dib was willing to bet he was rolling his eyes as he said it. "I don't know, maybe the father's idea has some merit."

"I'm not _crazy_!" Dib snapped at him. If only he didn't have a needle in his back; he'd like to be able to properly glare at the person insulting him.

Something – the cane, probably – whacked against the surface of the bed. "Say it all you like, but even if _we're_ convinced, there's still a little problem," the other doctor replied. "The problem is, your dad _thinks_ you are, and since he's the one who talked our boss into dropping this case on us, we're stuck playing by his rules. Which sucks for us, cuz that just takes all the fun out of it. It especially sucks for _you_, though, because if it keeps going like this it's probably going to end up killing you."

A somewhat awkward silence settled, the blond nervously clearing his throat as he finished what he was doing, setting something aside and carefully withdrawing the needle. "...Can you talk to him?" Dib tried pathetically.

"Probably wouldn't help until after we've shown him enough test results to disprove his theory, but...sure! Why not?"

"So...you don't think I'm...?"

"Nope." The cane thumped against the floor, and with that, the teen could hear the stranger heading back towards the door. It slid open, but didn't shut; instead, the man spoke again. "By the way, your friend wants to see you. ...And, when I say he 'wants to see you', I mean he's been yelling at everyone and demanding to know where you are."

Dib managed a quiet chuckle. "He's an alien, you know."

At first the blond doctor simply scoffed under his breath, shaking his head until the other responded, "Kinda caught that from the green skin, but thanks for letting me know. Now, how do you normally shut E.T. up?"

"Pfft, good luck with that. Though I guess you could chase him off if you tell him you're with the government, and that you know about his plans for world domination," he answered, wanting to see what the reaction to that would be.

There was another loud thump from the cane, and a light grunt that sounded surprisingly unconcerned. "I'll let someone else deal with him. He's kind of annoying."

Brow furrowed, Dib tried to get a look at the man over his shoulder. "I just told you that he's trying to conquer Earth and the only thing you can say is that he's _annoying_?" he asked in disbelief.

"He showed up at a hospital to visit a dying kid; I don't think there's anything to be worried about." With a final thump from the cane, the door slid shut, and the man was gone.

Dib had to admit...he'd had a remarkably good point.

* * *

That was Dr. Abode; he walks with a cane and has terrible bedside manner, because he's kind of a dick. :D


	49. Hunger

Some more random antics between the two, mmhmm. (Though, that could describe just about any of these prompts. XD)

Also, to 2lazy2login - That was the point. ;)

* * *

**HUNGER**

Dib wasn't exactly sure why he'd woken up at two in the morning. Rubbing at his eyes, but not feeling particularly tired, he sat up, legs dangling off the side of his bed. He didn't really want to go back to sleep; in fact, he kind of wanted to just get up and start his day. With a little yawn, one hand fumbling over to his bedside table for his glasses, the boy stood up and shuffled out the door, adjusting his spectacles as he went.

It was chilly in the house, but it only served to wake him up further, and as Dib ambled down the stairs with the intention of getting a bite to eat, he caught a couple of distinct sounds from the kitchen. Footsteps, grumbling, dishes and foodstuffs being rifled through; was Gaz up as well? Unconcerned, he padded his way across the living room, crossing the threshold of the kitchen to find-

An exasperated sigh escaped Dib as he opened the fridge, frowning at the disguised Irken, who had yelped in shock and yanked his head out of the pantry, whipping around to face the newcomer. "Dib!" he squawked, looking around frantically for an escape route. He seemed to consider the window, until he noticed that his nemesis had yet to actually confront him, so he remained where he was, gaze wary.

"You know, if you really want to break in, you could just as easily do it when I'm _not_ here," Dib muttered, opening up the milk and sniffing at what little was left. Hmm...it actually smelled okay. That was a first. Pleased with his luck, he took the carton along with him as he turned for the pantry, kicking the fridge door closed as he went and otherwise ignoring Zim's presence.

The Irken hastily backed out of Dib's way, keeping a guarded watch on the boy before informing him in a challenging tone, "I was going to poison everything."

Rolling his eyes, Dib plucked a box of cereal from the lower shelf, made sure it wasn't Gaz's favorite, and then dropped his chosen meal onto the table. As he headed over to the cupboard for a bowl, he replied casually, "I'm sure you were." Bowl in hand, he tugged open a drawer for the needed spoon before padding back to the table. "Thanks for letting me know. I've been needing to ask Dad to buy new groceries, anyway."

Zim made an annoyed face at that, hands coming up to prop on his hips; Dib ignored this, too, in favor of pouring out the cereal and remaining milk into his bowl. "I could have already poisoned that, you know," the Invader told him sourly.

"Whatever, Zim," the boy sighed, knowing just from the fact that it had been mentioned that he was perfectly safe. The Irken probably didn't know what constituted as poison to a human, anyway. Perhaps he'd just end up putting pineapple extract into all their food, or something equally ridiculous. Dib entertained himself with that idea for a moment, swallowing a mouthful of cereal before he grinned a bit, wondering how angry Gaz would be with the alien.

Said alien appeared a bit put-off by his enemy's lack of concern, and he shifted uncertainly. Then, apparently deciding that his plan had been foiled (at least for now), Zim just gave an exasperated scoff and stalked towards the front door. "I'll see you at skool," he stated curtly, pointedly not looking at the boy.

"Uh-huh," Dib offered dully, shoving another spoonful into his mouth. When the front door slammed, he glanced up worriedly for a moment, hoping it hadn't disturbed his sister. Thankfully, no shouts for him to be quiet or threats of dismemberment came, so he simply shrugged and returned to his cereal.

Once he was finished, he left the bowl in the sink and headed back to his room, wondering what he should do in the hours before school was supposed to start.

In the end, he just went back to sleep.

* * *

This has been the 'Super Duper Wacky Adventure Times of Zim and Dib'! Stay tuned for the next time I reuse this joke, only with slightly different wording!


	50. Drown

Tried to keep the same tone as its predecessor, but I may not have succeeded. Either way, though, I still kind of like how it came out. It took a rewrite to get it the way I sort of wanted it though, hence the lateness of it. I was about to scrap it out of frustration while pondering over what I could fix, but then, in an interesting sequence of events, a song entitled 'Curl Up and Die' came on to the Pandora station I was listening to, right while I was about to start over entirely, and it helped to get me into just the right mood to figure out what could be changed. (Also, I highly recommend listening to that song. Just...don't listen to it while reading the end of this if you're as sappy as I am.)

Follow-up of Preservatives.

Warnings: Character death

* * *

**DROWN**

He had no idea of what to expect when he carried out his plan; no idea of the security features, nor what he would do if he succeeded.

But Dib didn't care. Just like with everything before, in the life he'd thought was nothing more than another illusion, he simply didn't care. All he knew was that he had to save the one thing he _did_ care about.

It had been two months since his revelation.

Two months since he had realized just what he'd been wasting, since he realized that what had once been his enemy had slowly dwindled to little more than a husk, subjected to years upon years of pain, degradation, and the worst of solitudes. And it had been two months since Dib had come to the conclusion that, even as an Invader, Zim didn't deserve such a thing.

He'd come to another understanding shortly after that last visit to the lab, an understanding that served as another nasty wake-up call that Dib couldn't ignore.

In all that time, the Armada had never arrived to rescue their soldier.

No one cared, so no one was coming for Zim.

At that moment, Dib had decided that if no one else was going to, he would. He wasn't going to let it end with him simply apologizing, with Zim simply accepting it. He wasn't just going to let the alien tell him it was okay, because it _wasn't_; it _wasn't_ okay for him to be a coward, and it _wasn't_ okay to leave and go about his life as though nothing had happened.

And it _wasn't_ okay for him to pretend he didn't care – he had to _do_ something.

He started out small and subtle, something he'd been good at ever since the Meekrob had come to him. It was easy for him to make other people believe things about him when they weren't true; he'd spent the past twenty years making them think he had some amount of passion left in him. Now all he had to do was make them believe that he didn't care. If they got it into their heads that he _cared_ about their subject, he'd never be allowed through the doors.

They didn't question him the next time he showed up to visit Zim, or the time after that, or even the time after that and so forth. They knew his past with the alien, and assumed he was merely conducting his own personal experiment, something he confirmed if only to keep them at ease. If he wasn't careful, someone was bound to get suspicious.

Especially if they discovered what he'd started doing each day in the privacy of his home.

The energy of the Meekrob came to him far easier than before; he'd already learned to control it once, in a way, and though it wasn't exactly the same, learning it again was almost instinctual. His skill grew exponentially, day after day, but he didn't aim for the amount of power he'd had in the simulation. He didn't need that much. He just needed enough to save Zim.

Dib never hinted at what he was planning to the Irken, though. He couldn't risk it. He had no idea whether or not the scientists might check in on their subject, read that long slip of paper that compiled every thought that might run through the alien's mind Instead, each time he stopped by the lab, all he offered was idle chat, just something to give Zim a slight reprieve from the silence. Dib liked to think that his childhood nemesis appreciated the gesture, even looked forward to seeing him; Zim never mentioned anything about it, though.

He didn't mention much of anything, really. And as the visits went on, his words grew sparser and farther apart, as though even the process needed to form them was too much.

It took a while before a possible reason came to Dib, making him feel sick. To Zim, it probably seemed like nothing more than another cruel experiment; his human enemy showing up before his prison, staying with him just long enough to stimulate his mind into a semi-lucid state, and then leaving him to his dark, cold room to brood silently to himself, wondering how long he would have to wait before the next visit came. If the man even returned at all.

To Zim, it was just another brand of mental torture.

Dib couldn't let him think that, and he wasn't sure if he could keep up the charade for much longer, so he took a chance. He wanted to give the Irken a measure of solace, reassure him that everything would be all right, perhaps even let him know _why_ it would be all right. The security cameras wouldn't pick up his words, because there wouldn't be any; the innate abilities of the Meekrob would see to that.

It was a surprisingly simple power, one that he'd tested on his sister until she'd shown up at his work just to punch him in the gut, proving it a success. So, two months after he'd first stood before what was left of his enemy, he came to stand in front of the cold glass tube once more, and thought of one simple phrase.

_I won't leave you alone._

And for added measure, _I'm going to save you._

In small type, his own words printed out onto the thin stream of paper, already sounding empty. They had been meant to give the alien a glimmer of hope, even though Dib knew there wasn't much he could do. Regardless of the actions he took, even if they survived they would both be fugitives. Zim seemed to know this, as the attempts at consolation fell flat. While he expressed relief the first time Dib's voice echoed in his tattered mind, swearing that he wouldn't be left on his own, the drag of time had already worn away whatever comfort the promise of rescue might have offered. He'd already given up.

And so, two months after Dib had realized everything – what he'd lost, what he'd wasted, what he should have known and done – what brought him to act was Zim admitting what he'd always thought he wanted to hear. Ever since the invader had landed, to the arrival of the Meekrob, the one thing Dib had always wanted to come from Zim was an admission of defeat. But now...

_I gave up a long time ago, Dib..._

With that single phrase in his mind, the man sank down next to the small tube that contained the alien, head in his hands and the mental connection between the two of them severed. That couldn't be it. After everything, after all his work to regain control over the energy coursing through him, his showing up at the lab to try to keep Zim's mind pieced together, that was how it ended?

He wanted to pretend the Irken hadn't told him, that his once fiery and unshakable enemy hadn't been brought down to his level. He didn't want Zim to stop caring, to lose faith in life, the way he had.

The power of the Meekrob swelled around Dib, but he held it back, fear digging its cold claws into him. If he went through with this, there was no telling what could happen. He hadn't been able to get any information on the protection systems, not wanting to call attention to himself, and he didn't know where he could possibly go afterward...he didn't even know if Zim could survive outside his prison.

Then, the small stream of paper, issuing from below the alien's containment, caught his gaze, and the words printed there drove him to stand, turn around, and simply smash the glass to pieces.

Nothing mattered anymore.

_I'm dead no matter what you do._

What was left of the Irken was gently lifted from the ruined casing, and at that moment, bolts slammed over the door, sealing them inside as an alarm began to wail. That was fine...Dib didn't care. Sinking down cross-legged on the icy metal floor, he held Zim's tiny frame against him, pulling his trenchcoat around them to drive away the cold; the alien was shivering violently, and couldn't seem to breathe properly. The one hand that was left clutched weakly to Dib's shirt, bringing the man to wrap his arms around him as tightly as he dared, trying to warm and comfort him at the same time.

Behind them, the battered cords and coils that had held Zim sputtered, shooting out sparks, and the liquid that had filled the tube smoked for a moment before catching fire. A second alarm began to blare, and immediately a heavy spray of water descended upon the two, dousing the flames and coating the floor of the small room in puddles. Dib didn't care about that, either; he only tugged his trenchcoat further over the Irken to protect his sensitive skin.

Zim managed a cough, the opaque pinkish preservatives dripping from his mouth, and suddenly he was pulling in gasps of air. Unused to it after so long, it brought him to cough again, tearing up when the simple action turned into a hacking fit. All Dib could do was watch miserably, whispering apologies against the Irken's remaining antenna; he'd wanted to relieve his pain, not add to it.

When the fit abated, Zim just gave a tiny shake of his head. "I'm...all right," he breathed out, voice hardly even a whisper and raspy from disuse.

Dib swallowed thickly. "...You're dying, aren't you?" The question was soft and sad, the answer to it easy enough to guess. He was starting to shiver himself from the water drizzling steadily from the ceiling; already soaked, hair weighted down, he hated that it had to drip on the Irken.

"I am," Zim managed, feebly trying to curl closer to the human's body; he hadn't been warm in so long... "My PAK..."

"I couldn't risk looking for it," Dib told him, voice sullen. "And even if I'd found it..."

The Irken shook his head again. Even if they wanted it to, the PAK couldn't fix him now; they both knew that. The rescue attempt had been doomed from the start. Dib simply hadn't wanted to believe it. He had desperately wanted to cling to the hope that he could save Zim, that he could do more than just put a stop to his misery by ending his life completely.

They remained silent for a while, both unable to find their voice; Zim was barely able to speak as it was. Wisps of smoke drifted from his skin, droplets from the man's hair and the sprinkler system seeming to search out the marred and tender flesh, but he didn't appear to notice. He simply lay helpless in his enemy's arms and waited for the end. It wasn't much longer before they heard voices on the other side of the door, angry shouts and frantic yelling, bringing the Irken to tense up instinctively. Dib had been expecting it, though, and reacted quickly; he wasn't going to let them interfere, not while there was still a chance for them to reclaim their subject.

The Meekrob energy manifested again, swirling around the room before washing over the bolts, forcing them to remain in place. They grated in protest, someone beyond the door trying to disengage them, before they fell silent and still, dead to everything. Nothing could get in now.

And nothing would get out.

Dib sat silently, gaze level as he stared down at the Irken in his arms. Though half of his face was mangled beyond recognition, Zim still managed to get across his uncertainty, and the man said quietly, "I told you I wasn't going to leave you alone." With one last whirl of energy, the sprinkler systems shorted out and burst, the wide sprays turning to smaller streams of water that poured steadily and heavily.

Glancing briefly to the liquid, already pooled up around Dib's knees, Zim let out a weary sigh. "Wasting your life..." he murmured.

"I don't care." A soft brush of a hand to the lone antenna, and the Irken drew in a shuddering breath, the action sounding almost like a sob. "Does it hurt?"

"No..." Zim gazed up at him with his good eye, the other closed tightly, and there was an obvious wetness around them. But when he continued, voice frighteningly weak, the corners of his mouth tilted upward in a shaky smile. "Nothing hurts...I can hardly feel anything..."

Dib's hand smoothed back the antenna again, and the alien's other eye slid shut, body slowly going slack. How long had it been since the Irken had been unhooked from the containment? Eight minutes? Nine? ...Was his time already up? ...No, he realized; there was still that ever-so-slight movement of his chest as he breathed. "How long do you have?" Dib whispered to him.

The Irken stayed quiet, just letting what was left of him relax for the first time in over twenty years; he felt so weightless, he might have been flying. And even though they rested only feet from where he'd been held captive for so long...he felt _free_.

Zim's last words almost went unheard, and Dib was hardly able to believe he'd heard them at all.

_...Thank you..._

Everything was still after that. Even as the alarms wailed, and icy water poured from the ceiling to flood the tiny room, Dib heard nothing, and felt nothing. For a while he simply cradled the limp form in his arms, completely silent. His mind was empty, and when he lay back in the water, Zim's body against him and weighing him down, he didn't stop to think.

He didn't need to – there wasn't anything left to care about.

* * *

I'd had this ending in mind since I actually wrote Preservatives. Definitely not a happy ending, but at least they both got...um...closure? Yeah. Let's just call it closure.

Fun fact: Out of all fifty prompts in the first list, only five actually contain the title world somewhere within their story, and all five are rather common words. 'Cut', 'Under', 'Still', 'Broken', and 'Gone'. Had I noticed it beforehand, I would have gone back and fixed them, so as to have all fifty prompts lack their titular words (which I was, in fact, specifically trying to do). But, alas. Too late now. I'd like to think forty-five out of fifty's pretty good, anyway.

There may be a slight hiatus between now and the next grouping of prompts so I can build up a backlog. Hopefully it won't take more than a week or so; two weeks at the most, I'd say. I've already got two prompts done and two more in mind. I think once I reach fourteen I'll start posting again. (Don't worry, though, prompts don't really take me that long. XD)


	51. Chores

Tried something a little different this time; got the idea from listening to 'Amish Paradise'. Thanks, Weird Al! 8D

First prompt for the second list - this one's got a hundred topics, because I'm out of my mind! I also decided to upload early, as I'll likely be away on Halloween - consider this a kind of a celebration prompt, I suppose. After all, if you know anything about crops, you might guess what season it takes place in. ;)

* * *

**CHORES**

It had taken Dib over an hour to load up the buggy. Barrels of apples, sacks of yams and carrots, and several pumpkins, all homegrown and ready for sale at the market, and all of which the boy had had to retrieve and load himself. His sister had run off somewhere, as she often did, probably skulking somewhere in the fields, while his father tinkered with his strange attempted inventions.

Rolling his eyes a little, he hitched his mare up and pulled himself into the saddle, urging the horse onward once he was comfortably situated. The ride was generally uneventful, but he always felt a little nervous passing through the woods. He knew he had nothing to worry about, though, especially not with the hermit so nearby.

Most of the townsfolk were wary of the recluse; he'd arrived out of nowhere one night, his hut built strangely and a bizarre dog as his companion. His manner of speaking was odd, too, they'd all noticed, and he often mentioned things they'd never heard of before. They all figured he was unbalanced, but they left him mostly to himself simply because he _kept_ mostly to himself. He stayed away from town, and rarely spoke to anyone; the only exception was Dib.

As the buggy ambled along, the mare's hooves clodding along the dirt path, a small shadowy figure stole along beside it. "Late this time around," the hermit observed, voice high-pitched and grating, as though he'd been eating gravel his whole life. From what everyone else could tell, though, he never actually ate anything.

"Yeah, Gaz is off hiding somewhere, and my father's been working on some more of those..._things_," Dib replied, making a face. "So I had to get everything ready myself."

"He'll never get it to work. I've seen it. It's rubbish." With a couple clicks of the tongue, the smaller form gave a thoughtful hum. "Perhaps a jolt of plasma energy would do the trick, but...that's a hundred years out of his reach. A nice try, though, really...better than his other stink-brethren."

A little grin quirked at Dib's lips at the words. He didn't really get what it meant, but he thought it was funny, anyway. It was for that reason that he liked Zim; he didn't make sense, and was thus amusing, but at the same time he seemed infinitely more intelligent then the rest of the townsfolk.

Strange, overall.

"Want to go with me to the market? It'd be nice to have company," he invited, before nodding over to his wares. "And I'll give you first pick if you like."

Zim shook his head. "I've much to do. An orbital laser doesn't built itself, you know," he responded with a touch of weariness. "Thank you, though." He gave a courteous tip of his head, one of those strange grins on his face; it often gave the impression that he knew something no one else did, and tended to unnerve people.

Adversely, Dib just found it fascinating. He often wondered where Zim really came from, and how he'd shown up out of nowhere; at first there were the expected whispered rumors of foul play, that the hermit had sealed some deal with a devil, but Dib found it hard to believe, and eventually most of the townspeople had come to agree. Zim was strange, but ultimately harmless. In fact, the crops had been doing better since he'd arrived, and three infants had been safely delivered.

He'd never allowed Dib inside his hut – or anywhere near it for that matter – but when he'd been asked about his homeland, the other boy wanting to know more about his strange friend, he'd answered gladly. Of course, said answer had made as much sense as could be expected from Zim. Dib couldn't even really remember what it had been; something about a quadrant and a sector, followed by a short sequence of numbers and letters. There'd been a 'plural' and 'omega' in there, as well, for whatever reason, before the entire thing was designated with the word 'Irk'. Overall, it hadn't seemed entirely sensible, but it had made him laugh anyway, and Zim had laughed along with him.

He was impossible to understand, but that was okay. Dib didn't mind.

Plucking an apple from one bushel, even though he knew it was likely to go uneaten, he tossed it over to the hermit, who caught it with ease even though he hadn't been paying much attention. "I guess I'll see you later, then," Dib offered amicably, and Zim gave another nod of his head.

"Hopefully before the Sweeper 80X is complete. You are, after all, a rather interesting meat-creature."

An amused grin on his face, the boy flicked the reins, and the horse and cart picked up speed, heading for the next nearby town. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Zim waving after him, and he waved back just before the hermit seemed to simply vanish with a blur of silvery metal.

Indeed, he was a nice guy – just very very strange. And Dib liked that.

* * *

Different era fun times! I might try a few more of these later on, among other such things...

Oh, and HEY, READERS! I just wanted to thank everyone who stuck with me through the whole first list (or at least read a couple of prompts XD), as well as all those who were kind enough to leave a bit of feedback. So, thanks to vertigeaux, Lunadoll419, neverlife, i dont hug trees-they hug me, XxX-CURLY-WURLY-XxX, Pissed Off Irish Chick, chocolate-chibi, LazEd is luv, TooDimToSignIn, 2lazy2login, ExtremePwnage15, shy7cat, TooLameToThinkOfAName, SufferingThePretenses, Skittles the Sugar Fairy, and xxSkitten. And thanks especially to ArmoredSoul and ngrey651 - you have no idea how much I appreciate all your reviews! x3


	52. Happy

A somewhat different take on how things are usually done, I believe. Doesn't exactly match the prompt title, but this is what came to my mind, and I think that's how it's actually supposed to work. Or maybe I'm crazy. I dunno. :)

* * *

**HAPPY**

The heavy metal door to The Room closed smoothly behind Dib, sealing shut with a hiss, and his hands shuffled in the pockets of his labcoat. He was looking around awkwardly, feeling out of place even though he'd been here plenty of times, until finally he cleared his throat.

On the small cot in the corner, the tiny sheet-covered form turned over, and bright magenta eyes peered out at him. There was an obvious question in their depths, but it wouldn't be voiced.

Knowing such, Dib cleared his throat again and took one hand from his pocket, fingers clutching a small case. "Took me a while, but..." The other hand withdrew to scratch at the back of his head. "I got them to allow it." The uncomfortable expression on his face turned to a sheepish grin.

Immediately, the Irken was up on his feet, scurrying over to claim the offered object. With each step, the metal tags lining the collar around his neck jangled. "It's about time! Zim has been dying of boredom!" he sighed dramatically, clicking open the case and glancing over its contents.

"Well, I had to convince them you wouldn't find some way to escape using it," Dib chuckled then, making his way over to the cot and sinking down onto it, getting a squeak of protest from its metal supports. His arms draped over his knees as he leaned forward, eying Zim. The alien was sorting through a couple of tiny cartridges, interest in his eyes, as he slowly meandered back towards the cot. "So how are they treating you?"

Zim looked up at him, antennae perked, before he stared over his shoulder beyond the thick glass walls, to the scientists that ambled about. Then, he shrugged, and plopped down next to Dib. "Ehn. They're all right. Kinda dumb, though; they keep scanning the same parts of my 'spooch." His eyes flicked skyward for a moment, a grin spreading when he regarded his companion. "As if it'll be any different on a Tuesday as opposed to a Friday. Orange instead of purple, maybe?"

Dib grinned as well, a slight chuckle escaping him. At first he'd been disappointed to learn that they wouldn't risk a vivisection, or even harm the subject, when they could learn what they mostly wanted with scans and unobtrusive biopsies, or by simply asking. And while Zim wasn't particularly cooperative by nature, so long as the answers to their questions didn't put him in danger of treason, he'd humor them every now and again.

The Irken had been getting bored, though, dreadfully so. That was why Dib was here, and though he'd been disappointed with the circumstances at first, he eventually came to the conclusion that this wasn't altogether horrible, either. "So that...in-ta-webby thing," Zim spoke up, messing with the game system he'd been given. "It means I can use this to talk to you? Anytime?"

"Among other things, yeah," Dib confirmed. "You need the white cartridge to use the internet, though. See? This one here." He pointed it out, and the Irken snatched it up, scrutinizing it before looking back up at him, a smile on his face as he nodded.

"That will be all, then. You can go now."

Rolling his eyes, the man stood up; no matter how close the two of them might get, Zim was still insufferably Zim. "You're just going to send me a bunch of annoying emails, aren't you?" he asked in a purposely bored tone as he strode back to the door, which quietly hissed as it began to unseal for him.

"Yyyyyyyep."

Dib couldn't help but give another little laugh. Indeed, Zim was Zim, but there wasn't anything wrong with that.

* * *

At least until he figures out how to turn that game system into a death ray. But that'll probably take him a while, and it's much more fun to play video games, anyway.


	53. Life

A kind of double-feature this time around. Though both still technically go together, they can also work on their own. And the second part was mostly written just because I wanted to write some dialogue where Zim is horridly uninformed and kind of stupid. It was also written not only in present tense, which I never ever use, but in an extremely simple fashion, which I have never before attempted due to being a detail-lover. xD

* * *

**LIFE**

There were a lot of things that Dib ended up regretting when it came to Zim. Today had held many of those things, for the simple reason that he was – for once – trying to get along with the alien.

Not because he wanted to, of course. No, it was never because he _wanted_ to that he tried to contain his righteous hatred of the disguised Invader. Today, he was holding it back simply because he _had_ to. Their teacher had threatened them both with a trip to the underground classrooms if they misbehaved, and after the last incident, Dib wasn't exactly keen on visiting them again anytime soon.

Especially not on Game Day.

They only had this day once every couple of months, one of the few breaks from the endless dreary boredom of classwork and tests. It was one of those days where the teacher couldn't be bothered with the exhausting task of dumping loads of useless information onto kids who probably weren't even listening, so instead, she had them get together into pairs and the scattered larger group to make use of stacks upon stacks of old and dust-covered board games.

Of course, as Dib was the most unpopular kid in the skool, the only classmate he could possibly pair up with was Zim, who didn't seem to care all that much. While, unlike Dib, there were a handful of students who didn't _mind_ his company, they were unfortunate in that Zim generally always forgot their names, and in fact only ever remembered about them when it happened to be convenient. And, on Game Day, remembering them was not at all convenient, because on Game Day, he could attempt yet again to prove his superiority over his nemesis.

Sadly, no matter how much he might deny it and claim he was still the higher being, the fact that he was trying and miserably failing to play a game he'd never even heard of before made it all too clear who the true victor was.

**LIFE - PART TWO**

"Zim wants to be the mountain!"

A sigh of exasperation. "You can't be the mountain, Zim. Pick one of the cars."

"I don't want a stupid car, I want the mountain!"

"Ugh! The...uh...the mountain is less powerful. Yeah. Now just...pick a car!"

"Is there a purple one?"

"Um, no...? There's a red one, though. Or green. I get blue, though." Said firmly, with arms crossed to emphasize that it isn't debatable.

All duly ignored. "Nah, I think Zim shall have the blue."

"You don't even _like_ blue! Take the red!"

Claws scrape on the desktop. "FINE! But Zim gets more fake moniez!"

"It doesn't work like that, Zim. I guess you can be the Banker, though." Cards are shuffled, one given to each player, before the rest of the deck is placed onto the board.

Single pegs are placed into the top of each car piece now in play. "So I get more moniez?"

"Were you even listening? I said no! You just get to be in control of all the other money. Though I'm...probably going to regret that."

The fake money is quickly snatched up. "So does Zim win?"

"NO! We haven't even _started_!" Tiny houses are placed on the board.

Zim pokes one, knocking it over. "HA! I have destroyed one of your bases!"

"That's not- ...Whatever. Hooray for you." The spinner is flicked, one time each. "You go first."

"ZIM WINS!"

"...No. So, pick; College or Career?"

"Ehn...which one starts out with more moniez?"

"...Uh...you...shouldn't really be asking me. I'm playing to win, you know." Silence, and Zim just stares. "...Career."

Dib expects the response before it comes. "College, then!"

A sly smile. "All right, then. Go ahead and spin." Zim complies for once.

"I got a four. Do I take that many money pieces?"

"No, uh...you move...four spaces. ...That kinda should've been obvious."

"Silence!" A game piece is moved.

"Um, that one's mine."

"BE QUIET!" Dib decides to accept the fate of his game piece. "So, does Zim win yet?"

"...No."

"Can I buy Park Place?"

"That's...not even from the right game."

"Zim should still be able to buy it." A card is drawn.

"I don't think you're supposed to be drawing a card right now." Again, duly ignored.

"Do you have any...ehn...these thingies?" The drawn card is waved.

"Uh...no?"

"Well, then! Go Fish."

"...ZIM. That's the _wrong game_. And that's not even how you _play _Go Fish!"

Zim seems uncomfortable, but only for a moment. "Or maybe you just have no idea what you're talking about!"

"...I think we should play a different game."

"You're just upset that Zim is winning!"

"_We're still on the first turn!"_

* * *

Silly Zim! ...Hmm...you know, he'd probably enjoy playing Risk if he could learn the rules properly.


	54. Relationship

This one's really short, and contains BREAK-UP MADNESS! D:

Warning: ZAD...R...?

* * *

**RELATIONSHIP**

Nervousness; Zim had never really experienced that before. He shifted from foot to foot and back again, gloved hands clasped behind him, fingers fidgeting now and then. Dib stood before him, eyes wide in disbelief behind the thick glasses, mouth gaping for a while until a few words were managed. "Wh...what did you just say?" the teen asked, sounding baffled.

"It's over, Dib," the alien repeated, feeling braver now that he'd gotten the words out. "Zim has grown tired of this. We're doing nothing but dragging each other down, so...we can't see each other anymore!"

Confusion ran rampant on Dib's face, and then he asked hesitantly, "Are you...trying to break up with me?"

Zim gave a slight sigh, one that sounded slightly exasperated. "Of course I am, Dib-human! What did you think I was doing? All this is just getting us nowhere, so you must understand why Zim is dumping you – it's nothing personal."

"But-"

"No, no! Don't try to convince me, I've made up my mind! From now on, we must stay away from each other!"

He went on with similar such statements until finally Dib threw his hands up, letting out a sound of utmost vexation. "ARGH! You can't just _dump_ your enemy! Nothing's _that_ easy!"

* * *

Did I say 'break-up madness'? I was lying.

I was also lying about the warning. :D


	55. Play

This one insisted on being utter crap no matter what I wrote for it - this one was the best of the FIVE separate drafts I struggled with. Note that the word 'best' is used loosely.

Meanwhile, I don't know why I'm so amused by the idea of Zim attempting to play a piano. I must be very strange.

* * *

**PLAY**

Few things bothered Dib about middul skool as much as electives did. You couldn't really _elect_ to get into anything you actually wanted to get into, as far as he could tell, and generally the only classes that were offered were choir, home economics, and band. He couldn't sing, and he didn't want to risk the dreaded parenting exercise, so he went with the last choice. Band was something anyone could take part in, even if it wasn't easy.

He'd half expected Zim to take part in home economics, and perhaps learn something about humans for a change, only to discover, unpleasantly enough on the very first day of skool, that the Irken had enrolled himself in the exact same class he had. Dib had to wonder if he'd even asked what the courses were about, and eventually came to the decision that Zim had only chosen band because _he_ had chosen band. They didn't have any other classes together, and not being able to know at all times what his enemy was doing likely drove the Irken up the wall.

They'd both gotten so used to knowing what the other was up to back at their old skool; even Dib had to admit that being in a separate class from Zim was a little bit unnerving. Who _knew_ what havoc he might cause unsupervised? So, despite that he didn't really like dealing with the Irken, in a way, Dib was glad he shared band with him. Among other things, he was greatly looking forward to mocking his poor performance.

For their first day, the teacher let them pick through the various instruments to choose which one they'd be stuck with for the rest of the year. Dib avoided the woodwinds and brass instruments, knowing that skools were always somewhat lax on anything that had to do with cleaning, and eventually settled on the cello. Lugging around the enormous thing, while seemingly very inconvenient, would be good for exercise (and if nothing else, he could always try crushing Zim with it).

Zim took far longer to decide, glaring around at the strange devices, and he jumped in surprise whenever a sour note echoed through the room, his peers already getting acquainted with their instruments. Dib had to force himself not to laugh and add in his own ear-grating attempts at music. He held the urge back mostly in deference for their elderly teacher, who, bored of waiting for his students, had taken a seat at the keyboard at the far corner of the room to begin a light sonata.

It wasn't long before the sound caught the Irken's attention, and he made a beeline towards the source, hovering over the teacher's shoulder and muttering something that Dib couldn't hear. The rest of the conversation escaped him as well, but whatever it had been about hadn't made Zim very happy. He'd glared at the keyboard, then at the teacher, and then inexplicably down at his own hands before growling a few choice words.

The music stopped at that point, the old man scooting over on the bench and indicating for his student to join him; Zim did, grudgingly, before the teacher flicked his fingers over the keys to produce a couple of chords. Dib chuckled to himself when the Irken was prompted to do the same, only to be unable to, thanks solely to the typical two fingers and thumb design of his race. The elderly man nodded to himself, sweeping his hands over the keys for one last bit of music to prove a point, before getting to his feet and heading to his office, leaving Zim seated on his own in front of the keyboard.

Contact-covered eyes narrowed in displeasure, the alien stared down at the instrument silently, not even noticing that his enemy was watching him and snickering all the while. Instead, he just trailed one finger across the keys, intently focused on the sounds it produced, before slowly, very slowly, he lifted both hands to pick out note after note until the melody was recognizable. It wasn't perfect, or exact, but it was more or less the very same song that the teacher had shown him.

When Zim finally stood up, turning off the keyboard with a disgruntled sound, and returned to glaring at the other instruments, Dib suddenly felt a little bit sorry for him. He wasn't exactly sure why; he'd never felt anything other than annoyance or animosity towards the Invader before, but he could venture a guess as to what brought it forward.

For the very first time since his arrival, Zim had expressed interest in something Earth had to offer, and for a reason _other_ than wanting to destroy it.

It was almost something of a shame that the Irken couldn't have chosen the keyboard, simply because of his anatomy. Dib had to admit, he'd shown potential, and, most importantly, anything would have been better than the instrument Zim eventually came to choose. He would never forgive their teacher for suggesting it, and he didn't care that it 'suited Zim perfectly'. It did suit him, really, a little _too _perfectly in Dib's opinion, but the fact remained that it often gave him a splitting headache.

He eventually came to conclude that Zim should have never – _ever_ – been allowed anywhere _near_ a drum set.

* * *

If Zim was ever in a band, for whatever insane reason, he would HAVE to be the drummer. Either that, or he would demand to be the lead singer just so he could have the spotlight. XD;

Random note: From what I can gather, there's very rarely a piano player in school bands. However, from my own experience, there always seems to be a piano or keyboard in the band room for whatever reason. It's kind of weird. Or maybe it's just me. (insert shrug here)


	56. Toy

A well-worn idea, but I haven't written for it yet, so I thought I'd go ahead and give it my own shot.

Warning: Implied genocide, and most likely some interpretable ZADR. (It is not, however, intended as such.)

* * *

**TOY**

The window's sleek glass mirrored the pale face of the human seated before it, the dark rings under his eyes seeming even darker in his reflection, and the teen rested shaking hands on the icy surface. Everything seemed cold here, encased in metal and technology and lorded over by the Irken machine. Irkens were the coldest things of all, he'd learned, and he'd learned it quickly.

Behind him, lithe arms curled around his neck to drape over his front, an airy chuckle echoing by his ear; even Zim's breath had a chill to it. Shuddering, Dib leaned forward, trying to keep distance between himself and his enemy, but he was tugged back by the metal looped around his neck. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" Zim cooed, tone cruelly mocking, and his eyes were filled with a delighted sort of malice as he, too, stared out beyond the glass.

"It's disgusting," Dib muttered, subconsciously tugging at the collar. It had been cold once as well, until just a few days ago, when it had been snapped on to him to be warmed by his skin for the rest of his life. But despite the long days they'd spent here, the ship still hadn't moved. Instead, it remained in orbit over what had once been a thriving planet, now plunged into an eternal winter.

Irkens hated heat. Dib had always known that, ever since the first summer the Invader had spent on Earth, and now he was reminded of it constantly. Already, Zim's claws were digging into his chest, as though to punish him for the warmth his body produced. A hiss of cool air against the side of his face, a sign of further displeasure, but Zim didn't let him go. "Get used to it," the Irken drawled then, settling more of his weight against the teen's back, not caring that it made Dib uncomfortable. It wasn't that he was heavy, of course...just cold.

A light sigh escaped the human, hands dropping down to rest in his lap. He didn't feel like fighting; not right now. But he wasn't about to follow whatever orders the Irken might dream up, either.

"Glare at me all you like, Dib-human, I don't care. It won't help you," Zim huffed, dragging his claws down the navy fabric of Dib's shirt. "You're _Zim's_ now." He laughed at that, the sound grating and scornful, one hand coming up to play with the metal collar teasingly before he pulled away, much to Dib's relief.

It was short-lived, however, as the Irken sank down next to him, reclining against his shoulder and chilling him further. "Go away," Dib grumbled, frowning as he stared down at what remained of Earth; the once blue and green planet had turned a pure white. "Haven't you tormented me enough yet?"

"Never!" came the expected reply, and he figured that Zim had kept them in orbit for that very reason, adding insult after insult to injury after injury. "And Zim will _not_ go away; you're in no place to give orders." Amusement glittered in the Irken's eyes, before he added pointedly, "_Slave._"

Another shudder coursed down Dib's spine, serving only to remind him of the device that had been clamped onto his back. He wasn't stupid; he knew what it was for. "You're never going to let me go, are you?" he whispered.

Zim's expression darkened, and a wicked smile slowly curled at his lips. He leaned in close to the human, repeating in a quiet hiss, "_Never_." One claw slipped between collar and skin, tugging Dib even closer, all so Zim could growl right into his face. "You're _mine_."

* * *

Yeah, you tell him, Zim! o.o

Note: Beyond Prompt Number 58, updates may be much slower, as I've started work on writing a novel for NaNoWriMo. I probably won't make it to 50,000 words, but I'm still going to try, because I need to get at least ONE of my novel ideas down on paper. (Or...computer. You know, whatever.) I will still try to update at least every other day, however.


	57. Video Game

Sometimes I wonder how Skoodge and Gaz would have gotten along had the show gone on longer. I also wanted to write something where Zim and Dib were more of background characters. Thus, this resulted.

* * *

**VIDEO GAME**

Ever since he had come to live in Zim's basement, Skoodge had come to the conclusion that it was best not to ask questions about things. In fact, unless Zim specifically ordered him to, it was best to not get involved in anything whatsoever, even if it seemed like it really required his involvement.

One of the number one things in which he thought he should intervene, but didn't because Zim insisted it wasn't any of his business, was the matter of the constant intruding of a certain young human. Skoodge had heard of him before, mainly because of Zim's transmissions to the Tallests, in which he had complained about the so-called 'Dib' to an almost obsessive degree. Personally, Skoodge figured that all this 'Dib' boy needed was a good disintegration to get him out of the equation forever.

Zim, however, clearly didn't think so.

And thus, whenever Dib might break into the base, disregarding that he had the wellbeing of himself and a fellow Irken to consider, Skoodge idly sat by and did nothing.

And so, today, he sat on the curb outside in his new disguise, a tiny game console in his hands, ignoring the yelling and explosions of various sizes that emitted from the inside of the base. Beside him, a rather small girl with violently purple hair sat silently. Skoodge had been told that she was a littermate of the 'Dib' boy, but he didn't know much more than that, and he wasn't exactly sure why she'd joined him, either. She hadn't even spoken to him so far, but rather, continued to mash the buttons of her own console, labeled 'GameSlave 2' in bright neon lettering.

Behind them, Zim screamed something unintelligible, drawing a confused reply from his nemesis, though Skoodge wasn't paying enough attention to garner any hint of what they were actually saying. This, after all, wasn't any of his business.

After a length of silence, he glanced over at the purple-haired girl. "How much longer do you think they're gonna take?" he asked hesitantly.

She shrugged, giving a little grunt. "Another hour or two, probably," she replied, unconcerned. She didn't even flinch when a horrified shriek came from within the base, despite the fact that it had clearly come from her sibling.

Skoodge let out an aggravated sigh. "There is _so_ much more productive stuff I could be doing right now," he sighed.

"Pfft. No kidding."

* * *

And that would likely be the only time they'd ever interact, but people would pair them together anyway. ...Wait, what?


	58. Computer

I wrote this a while ago, but I still like it. Also, I decided not to be so restrictive of the usage of titular words from now on. I'll still try not to use them, but I won't go out of my way to avoid them, either. XD

* * *

**COMPUTER**

Spastic. The only way to describe what could be seen on the monitor. Windows popped open, only to shut themselves seconds later, while colors pixelated and blurred, all while files and whole programs deleted themselves. Dib stared blandly at all of this, subconsciously adjusting the small microphone that rested on the desk before him, and he didn't even bother to try opening a virus program to isolate whatever the problem was.

After all, he already knew precisely what the problem was.

Although expecting his 'virus' to do everything in its power to mess things up, the human began sifting through his files, having a good idea of exactly where said 'virus' had implanted itself. "You've already been captured, why bother destroying incriminating evidence?" he muttered, frowning when the on-screen mouse arrow went out of control. The activity slowed to a near stop once he'd spoken, as though the 'virus' had actually heard and understood him, and was contemplating the words.

Taking advantage of the opportunity, Dib clicked open a special program he'd written himself, entering passwords and file directories. After a long moment, in which all other activity ceased, words began to slide across the open window. 'No fair!' the words read. 'The perfect chance for me to get back at your stupid head and the first thing you do is isolate me!'

Dib stared at the screen, one eyebrow raised. "You were probably about to crash my computer. Then what would happen to you?" he questioned mildly. In response, a compilation of random symbols appeared in the window, the supposed equivalent to indignant stuttering. "And besides, I saved you. You owe me one, Space Boy."

'You didn't _save_ me. You simply moved me from one prison to another!' The annoyance of the other was obvious, even when only in written form. There was a slight pause before more words began to appear. 'Though I suppose I am…slightly grateful that you did so before they could cut me open. But just you wait, Dib-smell! Once I'm free, I'll rain DOOM down upon your filthy world!'

"You don't have a body to go back to anymore, Zim," Dib replied. "The scientists mangled and studied every piece that they could. You're all in pieces now, and the only pieces I could manage to save were small enough to fit into a USB port. Just so you know, it took me ages before I could figure out how to build the hardware to make my technology compatible with yours."

Another pause, then more words. 'Hmm...so you saved Zim's personality and memory chips. Was that all you could get?' Dib gave a vaguely affirmative noise, but otherwise didn't respond. 'Pfft; how pitiful. ...How'd you manage to get ahold of them anyways?'

Shrugging, the human began to explain, slowly and in depth, not missing a detail. After all, with the alien at his beck and call on the computer…he had all the time in the world.

* * *

Fun fact: Originally, when I was first writing this, I'd intended to include a character that had been mentioned in the commentary of Bad Bad Rubber Piggy. In this commentary, one of the cast members, or perhaps even Jhonen, mentioned how Dib had initially been meant to die and be replaced by some kid named 'Louie' (or perhaps it would have a weird spelling like 'Lui'). Said character, in this story, would have been the one to capture Zim, though Dib would have still been alive. Other than that, I don't remember what I'd intended to do with the plot.


	59. Famous

And I'm finally back. Lost the inspiration for writing for a while, thanks to NaNoWriMo. Which I failed at, by the way. By 9,000 words. Made me mad, it did, but...ah, well. (And of course, now I hate what I've written.)

* * *

**FAMOUS**

It didn't particularly surprise Dib to learn that his sister had a taste for death metal music; it was angry, it was violent, and most importantly, it was brutal. It didn't matter that it was loud, which was normally a trait that would grate on Gaz's nerves. All that mattered was that it complimented her dark and scary personality perfectly.

Which brought the two of them to the concert hall late one night. Their father still insisted that as a girl, Gaz needed to be protected by her big brother, but for this, Dib didn't really mind. He wasn't a huge fan of the band like his sister, but he would willingly admit that they were still pretty cool, and their music was good, if not a little strange sometimes. So he had no complaints whatsoever about having to go along.

...Well, no, that wasn't _entirely_ true. He complained once, at first, when he'd learned that the nightly surveillance on his enemy's base would have to be canceled. He also grumbled about it on the way to the concert, and in the line, being careful to remind Gaz that he was the only thing that stood in the way of Earth's destruction.

He _didn't_, however, raise any fuss whatsoever about the band in question, and it was likely that once the music started, he'd shut up completely. At least, that was what Gaz was hoping. She wouldn't be able to hear him over the shouts of the crowd, or the shredding of the world's fastest guitar player, but even just _knowing_ that he was talking annoyed her sometimes.

Sadly, upon reaching the auditorium doors, she found herself miserably disappointed. There was no way that Dib was going to keep his mouth shut tonight. Not when her favorite band, with their lyrics revolving around hatred towards mankind and the ruination of the planet, had managed to attract the attention of the very person who lived off of such things.

Standing before the two of them, disguised eyes wide and a ticket stub clutched in his claws, Zim shifted uncomfortably, glancing between the siblings and for once not knowing how to properly react. How was he supposed to explain his enjoyment of an _Earth _band, not to mention his ignoring conquest in favor of a simple concert? "Er...this is...a _normal_ human thing to do! Yes!" he exclaimed then, expression lighting up. That would certainly satisfy any curiosity they had! He was _always_ trying to appear normal!

Dib's expression was already starting to show annoyance, but to his sister's relief, he only scoffed and shoved his hands into his pockets, looking elsewhere. She could guess why; a fight with Zim would get him kicked out of the concert hall, as well as into a heap of trouble with their father. With a tiny smirk, Gaz headed forward and through the doors, gesturing for the boys to follow.

Zim hesitated only briefly, a wary eye pinned on his nemesis as he trailed after his sister, before he hurried along behind them. He remained focused on glaring at the back of Dib's head, however, and ended up jumping in surprise when the teen addressed him over his shoulder. "So, let me guess...your favorite is 'Burn the Earth', right?"

The amount of sarcasm in the question was evident even to the normally thick-headed Irken, and he averted his gaze quickly, face darkening somewhat. "Tch-! ..._Shut up_."

* * *

Cookies to anyone who could guess right away which band is being referred to, and super-special-awesome cookies to all who didn't even need the song title to guess it.


	60. Emotion

This is the only time I will ever write something like this. And this was only written because I thought it was funny. Also, for those wondering, the referenced band in the last prompt was 'Dethklok'. Congrats (and cookies!) to those who guessed right. :D

Warning: ZAG...R...?

* * *

**EMOTION**

Forget constantly being called crazy. Forget that he'd been caught and nearly experimented on several times. Forget that he'd had to deal with a disturbing amount of bizarre alien behavior. When it came to Zim..._this_ was the worst thing he'd ever been exposed to.

"Really. You're _really_ doing this." Arms crossed over his chest, Dib stood, still in his pajamas and glaring angrily towards the kitchen table. His father had already been blinded by Zim's charms at that table, and now...

Seated beside Gaz, a wide and mockingly innocent smile on his face, Zim stared back at him levelly. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about," he responded, as though he didn't currently have an elbow locked with that of the girl next to him. She didn't appear to notice, and if she did, she was pretending not to, only shoving a spoonful of cereal into her mouth.

Bristling in annoyance and righteous anger, her brother stomped forward, banging a hand down on the tabletop. "What makes you think I'm going to stand for this, _Zim_?! She's my _sister_, and _you're_ my enemy! I am _not _going to let you date each other!" he spat, wanting to gag when the disguised Irken inched even closer to Gaz and clung tighter to her arm.

"Well, too bad! Zim has the icky feelings of _luuuurv_ for her and there's _nothing_ you can do about it!" Zim then glanced to the girl, adding in a sickly-sweet tone, "Isn't that right, _potential mate_?" The words were accentuated to garner further ire from Dib, but they didn't quite work as intended; the concept brought an obvious strain to the alien's smile. Not only that, but it got his sister to slit open one eye, which started to twitch slightly when her gaze drifted down to their interlocked elbows.

One eyebrow raising, Dib crossed his arms once again, but at that point the only thing he could do was smirk. "Okay, right. Sure. Very funny, you almost got me there." He then waved a dismissive hand and turned back towards the living room. "Keep trying, Zim. And, uh...have fun with your..._heh_...girlfriend," he chuckled lightly as he left the kitchen.

He wasn't at all surprised when, hardly a minute later, a sound that suspiciously resembled that of 'fist planted into alien gut' reached his ears. He was equally unsurprised when he heard Zim give a few awful squawks of pain, accompanied by the snarling of, "Oh, yeah, that was a _real_ great joke. Now let _go_ of me, you _freak_!" The whole horrible ordeal ended with Gaz kicking the alien out the front door, leaving him sprawled out on the sidewalk, dazed and bruised, as she hurled a good deal of insults and threats at him before finally slamming the door shut.

Forget all the torment she'd put him through over the years. For the first time in a long while, Dib was proud to call Gaz his sister.

* * *

I think ZAGR is silly. ZADR is silly, too, but it's at least silly in a way that's fun for me and rakes in the lulz. xD


	61. Run

Another Dib-centric prompt. I should really give Zim some of his own prompts sometime... xD

* * *

**RUN**

_Pound – pound – pound – pound –_

Gold eyes were slit mostly closed, the teenager relishing the chilly early morning air on his skin, and the rhythmic sound of his shoes against the pavement. Every quick step broke the still silence, each added a little more fuel to the fire burning in Dib's lungs; he kept going.

Endurance and stamina was important, so he had to keep going. If he wasn't in optimal shape, all his hard work could slip straight through his fingers, leaving the planet's fate on a silver platter. He wasn't going to let that happen, wouldn't let his world be handed over so easily.

He veered away from the path, feet crunching over gravel and then dirt, all of it uneven and awkward. Still, he kept going; he could take the easy way in practice, but the battles never ended up so simple. One trip, one slip-up, could spell disaster; he'd learned that well over the years. He acknowledged the passing thought in his mind with a slight nod, but kept it at that. He had to stay focused on the task at hand; focus was just as important as stamina.

_Thud – thud – thud – thud –_

The sounds of his footsteps were quieter against the dirt, and even more so when the next hill he crested brought him to grass, cold and slicked with dew and the mists of the sprinklers. Dib continued on without relent, even as his wet skin prickled at the biting chill; it was a reprieve from the sweat and heat brought by exertion. It was something to be enjoyed.

He almost lost his balance, once, feet sliding on the wet grass. He composed himself quickly, though, and went on as though nothing had happened. His eyes stayed straight ahead, his mind stayed on his task, and he didn't falter again. He ignored the burn in his chest; instead, he paid attention to each footfall on the grass. The sounds spurred him onward, reminded him that he had to keep going. The perfect distraction.

_Thump – thump – thump – thump –_

It sounded almost like a heartbeat. His mind zeroed in on the noise, and then on his own heartbeat, fluttering as wildly as that of a captured bird. So long as it kept going, so long as _he_ kept going, there would be nothing to fear. Everything would be all right. _He_ would be all right.

He just had to keep going.

_Thump – thump – thump – thump –_

* * *

The concept of Dib being a scrawny and pathetic weakling baffles me sometimes. Nerd or not, he's chasing after and fighting with Zim all the time - he has _got_ to be in pretty decent shape.


	62. Fear

A certain someone snuck his way into this prompt without my realizing it. Clever little thing.

* * *

**FEAR**

As Zim tore down a hallway at skool, he came to the realization that he'd found yet another something he was quite good at. Usually, he would have congratulated himself on this fact, strutted about proclaiming his superiority, but for this particular something, all he could really do was curse himself. So, he did, vehemently, all while skirting to the side into the next hallway, hoping to shake off his pursuers.

For you see, he'd become quite good at unintentionally pissing the skool bullies off.

Not far behind him, the disguised alien could hear Torque's shouting, the pounding of sneakers on linoleum, and some angered snarling from Chunk. Eyes widening, Zim gulped nervously and dove down the next hallway, dashing out the doors at the far end to find himself in the gymnasium. Looking around wildly, his gaze landed on the raised bleachers; and more importantly, the space _behind_ them.

With the enraged yells drawing closer, bringing his hidden antennae to shiver, Zim scrambled across the basketball court, glad that it wasn't occupied by any of the physical education classes. His passing wouldn't have gone unnoticed otherwise. The pounding of boots against slick wood echoed throughout the large and empty room, and when he squeezed himself between the wall and the bleachers to reach the open and musty space within, twin shouts of surprise echoed, too.

Hands clenched to his laptop protectively, Dib stared up at him in a mix of shock and confusion; he hadn't expected such a visitor, or any visitor at all. "What are you-" he started, before the gym doors slammed open again. The voices that accompanied it were enough to answer his question. Zim was instantly on his guard, inching back against the wall as if to blend further into the shadows, and he eyed Dib uncertainly.

A tense moment passed, the two enemies watching each other warily as the bullies prowled about beyond the bleachers. Then, Zim silently raised one claw to his mouth, expression conflicted; the boy didn't owe him anything, he could reveal exactly where he was hiding if he really wanted to. Equally quiet, Dib only stared up at him, gaze flicking once in the direction Torque's voice was coming from. Then, just ever-so-slightly, he nodded.

He didn't want to be found, either.

* * *

And then they totally make out behind the bleachers. (And then Krys totally has the crud beaten out of her by annoyed readers.)


	63. Gamble

I love stuff based on probability. (Or improbability, perhaps...)

Warning: Idiotic thrill-seeking

* * *

**GAMBLE**

With one brush of Dib's finger, the chamber spun 'round, Zim watching it dubiously. He didn't like that his enemy was holding the thing, and he didn't like the concept of _luck_, either. Another spin when the chamber slowed, and the human grinned; the next time it came to a stop, he offered the weapon over.

"Want to go first?" he teased.

The Irken snarled wordlessly at him; these dangerous little games of chance always frustrated him, yet he'd unintentionally brought them into their battles in the first place. Dib had just been the one to keep them going. Perhaps he'd developed a thrill for stupidly risking his life.

Either way, Zim didn't discourage the behavior. Even though he didn't believe in 'luck', he'd survived through everything else, every trial that had been laid out before him. So surely he could survive another one of his enemy's pointless games.

That didn't, of course, mean that he would risk going first.

Dib shrugged, and placed the muzzle of the revolver just below his chin, clicking the safety off. His body was already trembling, a rush of adrenaline flooding through him, coupling with the cold fear that always came with prospect of death's possibility. Calming the fear was surprisingly easy; with every spin of the chamber, the chances were reset. And there was an eighty-three point thirty-three percent chance that he would survive.

He pulled the trigger.

...

Nothing.

The nothing came with a burst of satisfaction, a smug smirk crossing his face as he dragged a finger along the side of the metal, setting the chamber spinning again. Once more, he'd cheated death; at least, that was how he liked to look at it. And now, it was Zim's turn.

The alien held the foreign weapon awkwardly, disliking the shape and weight of it in his hand. He glared at it for a moment, and after a quick and annoyed glance up at Dib, he spun the chamber again, as though he didn't trust the other to do it properly. As though his chances would be any different.

They'd committed to three rounds of the deadly roulette. Six spins, six chances that one of them might die, a one in six chance with every shot. It had nothing to do with luck. It was all based on probability. The strength of the spin itself determined where the bullet would end up.

He spun it again for good measure.

* * *

I doubt Irkens would really gamble all that much unless they're absolutely sure they'll win; probability ratios might make it too depressing. xD

I suppose this prompt can be seen as kind of another version of 'Two Guns'. Only, there's only one gun. You know.


	64. Christmas

Rather late, but then, I was at my mom's house for a while and wasn't able to work on it or post it. So, yet again, I'm blaming something on my mother. :D

Warning: IT'S JOLLY (Only, not really.)

* * *

**CHRISTMAS**

It was amazing, really, how friendly so many people could become when December rolled around.

Zim, however, was not one of those people.

He grumbled in annoyance whenever he heard anything about goodwill towards man. He growled whenever he had to listen to any sort of caroling about peace and love. And he _especially_ didn't like being subjected to the tradition of placing useless baubles on an equally useless tree.

He'd snarled about that one, ranting about how stupid mankind was for creating such mindless festivities.

Fortunately, Dib didn't particularly mind, being one of the friendlier types when the holiday season drew closer. Not that he didn't still try to get the alien to see a little bit of good in the occasion; after all, he didn't like having to fight so close to a holiday revolving around kindness and giving. "Oh, come on, Zim," he sighed as he pinned a glittering garland to the wall; he had to hold the far end of it off the ground so GIR wouldn't be able to mess with it. "Just lighten up, will you?"

From his spot on the couch, where he was very nearly sulking, Zim frowned up at the teen and crossed his arms. "No. This is _stupid_," he insisted. He'd already been angry, having only showed up at Dib's house to destroy the latest bit of 'proof' his rival had collected. It didn't help, though, that after they'd argued and wrestled over the incriminating photos, the city had been hit by a massive snowstorm, leaving him trapped in his enemy's home.

It _especially_ didn't help that, once he'd considered the fight over, Dib had gone back to putting up decorations.

Stepping over a hyperactive SIR unit, the human in question sighed again and pinned the garland's end up. That done, he turned to regard the alien moping on his couch. "You just think it's stupid because you don't understand it."

"Zim understands it just fine! It's all about shiny things, annoying songs, getting presents, and worshiping a horrible jolly fat man!" The Irken snarled angrily when GIR took it in himself to start grating out a quite awful version of 'Santa Baby', a song which, on its own, was already enough to pull a tirade of aggravation from his master.

Before Zim could start screeching, however, Dib distracted GIR with a large candy cane, shooing him away and sitting down on the opposite end of the couch from his nemesis. "That's the commercialized version you're thinking of," he informed him. "So, really, you don't understand it at all."

"You think I _want_ to?" Zim retorted, a scowl on his face, and he scooted away from Dib as best he could; seeing as he was already on the end of the couch, however, his attempt was unsuccessful.

Dib shrugged. "Not really. But, uh, just think of it this way...the only reason I'm not kicking you out into _that_-" He gestured towards the window, beyond which sheets of powdery white still whirled about. "-is because it's almost Christmas."

The invader turned his glare to the window, a hint of unease showing in his expression as he regarded the tiny particles of what – to him – was nothing more than frozen acid. Then, his gaze returned to Dib, not as full of malice as before, but still spiteful enough to make it clear that this temporary truce wasn't going to change anything between them. "More of that _peace_ and _goodwill_ nonsense?" he questioned sourly, almost spitting the words out, for they defied his very nature as an Irken. "You're being _nice_ to Zim?"

Another shrug, the teen replying unconcernedly, "Sure, I guess."

"That's stupid." Zim's hateful scowl was dropped for a flat and thoroughly unimpressed stare, which Dib more or less ignored, even as the look was slowly replaced by an amused smirk. "Did you get me a present, too?"

"Pfft. _No_."

* * *

Slight reference to an old-ish web cartoon with the last exchange. Cookies (and milk!) to anyone who can guess it, and seeing as it's actually a rather vague reference, I might take a prompt request from the first person who can guess it correctly.

Oh, and hope you all had a lovely holiday! :3


	65. Animal

After watching District 9, this idea wouldn't go away until I wrote it. So, here it is.

Warning: Alien racism, alternate universe

* * *

**ANIMAL**

Dib couldn't really say that he enjoyed his job. He worked with aliens, sure, like he'd always wanted, but he'd never imagined anything akin to this. There were soldiers trailing along behind him and his associate, ever watchful as the group traversed through the rows of small huts; each man held a fully loaded machine gun at the ready in case any of the bug-like beings got it in their heads to lash out. His associate carried his own handgun, and Dib, too, had a pistol strapped at his hip.

He wasn't like the soldiers, though, or his business partner. No...he'd come to find that they were needlessly cruel, that they saw the newest residents of Earth as nothing more than brainless insects, unfeeling and lacking sentience. He knew for a fact that any one of the people he was with now would have gunned down an innocent Irken with no hesitation or mercy.

Of course, Dib also knew well enough that if he truly wanted to offer help to the stranded aliens, even if he couldn't bring himself to fire on them, he couldn't show them any compassion, either. The military wouldn't stand for it regardless of the reason, and the corporations helping to fund the operation would take advantage of the public's tense and xenophobic mentality. That would have been the worst outcome of all. The military would only remove him from his position; the corporations would call Dib's motives into question, lying and smearing his good name until he hadn't a shred of credibility left.

So, he left most of the talking to his associate, standing off to the side and – though his face betrayed nothing – feeling awkward, guilty. Most of the Irkens still didn't have a full grasp of English, didn't understand exactly what the officials were trying to tell them, didn't know that they were being forcibly relocated; they signed the offered paperwork only because they were afraid. They had long been stripped of their weapons, and, having no defense against the humans, cooperation was their only chance for survival. Even when they complied with the orders of the officials, some were assaulted – even _killed_ – simply because a soldier became impatient or bored.

Dib was thankful when they reached the far end of the alien encampment, the promise of work's end, until the next day when it would all start over again on the next three or four rows of shacks. He even stepped up to the last door to call on this last Irken himself, wanting to be sure it was done quickly; his associate often saw fit to waste their time bullying the creatures. The soldiers quickly became antsy when there was no immediate answer, and when the flimsy barrier finally cracked open, just slightly, one deep magenta eye peering out warily, even Dib felt a wave of nervousness.

Vaguely, as the small alien regarded them, he wondered if the soldiers had been as affected by its gaze as he; this one would not be easily bought. There was no fear in the way this one looked at them, none at all, and as it stared up at him levelly, all Dib could see shining in its eyes was disdain...and intelligence. This was no mindless bug. If anything, it saw _them_ as lowly beasts, something to be looked down on, tied up, caged.

When the paperwork was brought forth, the alien didn't sign it immediately. No...instead, it began to _read_ it. It asked questions, suspiciously, with its English near perfect. One might have even thought it had grown up speaking the language, for its accent didn't bleed into the foreign speech as it did for so many other Irkens. Dib's associate began to grow angry, the soldiers training their weapons on the tiny creature, and suddenly he felt the need to step in, felt the need to save this single baffling Irken from a needless and messy death. Let me handle it, he told his companions; I know what I'm doing.

He didn't. Not really. But when he began to speak to the alien in its own language, they figured that he did, and so they complied with his request. Dib didn't think he would ever forget the expression on the Irken's face when he began to speak its native tongue; surprise, a hint of gratitude, but mostly, amusement. It could tell he wasn't overly fluent – his companions couldn't.

When it was over, not five minutes later, the needed signature graced the bottom of the paper, both in the harsh angles of an alien alphabet and in plain English letters. The soldiers, and his business partner, were satisfied, and had already started to make their way to the exit, leaving Dib a ways behind with the odd Irken. He found he didn't mind. And he found himself asking a simple question.

Do you think we're inferior, Zim?

The alien seemed surprised, and understandably so; no human ever saw fit to refer to them by their names. Its – his – forehead creased slightly as he considered the question, before finally he nodded. It was such a common gesture, something Dib had thought unique to Earth...yet, here was an intelligent creature from another planet, expressing its meaning in the very same way. It was strange – interesting, really – to learn that even such a basic thing could bring forth a feeling of kinship.

In that moment, he felt a rush of dislike toward his own kind, and he thought that maybe, just maybe, they all really were just as base and inferior as they had always thought the Irkens to be. Perhaps they really were nothing more than beasts, driven by instinct, and instinct alone. It was bringing them to hate and mistreat a race that had done nothing against them; this whole ordeal was nothing more than a display of the sheer, instinctive drive to outcast all that was different.

All Dib could think to do was apologize. So he did, a small and sad smile on his face as the words left him, and the expression that crossed the alien's face, something deep and indescribable, forced him to turn away, forced him to follow after his companions. He couldn't let it affect him. He had too much to lose. But he wouldn't forget the way the Irken had looked at him, wouldn't forget the simple phrase that had almost stopped him in his tracks.

_You're different from the rest of them._

He knew that already, so he nodded, and he forced himself to keep going. He didn't look back, even when one last question was called to him. He hardly even thought about the hopeful tone it carried with it.

_Will I see you again?_

Maybe, he didn't say. Just maybe, Zim...someday.

...

I hope so.

* * *

Not sure if I like it, but at least I got it out of my head. xD


	66. Wild

I am way too interested by the concept of first contact between humans and aliens. Really. xD

Note: Alternate universe

* * *

**WILD**

The surface of the alien world was cold, as it always was; the red dwarf the planet orbited offered little in the way of heat. One might have expected to see snow layering the ground, but no. Not here. No precipitation would fall, for the air was dry, terribly so, driving the cold deeper into the flesh of all those stupid enough to be roaming about above ground.

Zim was not stupid. He was not on the surface because he wanted to be. But fortunately, he was Irken, and so the cold didn't register in his mind. The thick and tough skin those of his race possessed easily warded away the chill, leaving him more or less comfortable. Had the surface been warm, however, he might have had something to complain about.

He complained anyway, vehemently, voicing mostly harsh chatters with the occasional series of clicks mixed in. While he grumbled and growled, he shoved his way through the undergrowth, stopping only once to angrily tear down a thick vine. He broke it apart with his claws as he began to walk once more, ripping into it to get at the tougher but sweeter core, which his sharp teeth made quick work of. Once the sugar began to course its way through his system, he felt calmer, his head clearer, and he considered exactly _why_ he was up on the surface.

Excommunicated. Banished. His kin, still holed up safe in their tunnel system, had thought him a danger, and had appealed to their Tallest. It wouldn't do to keep such an excessively violent smeet, they said. Zim snarled lowly; how _dare_ they still refer to him as a smeet! He wasn't much younger than the rest of them, not at all!

He froze suddenly, antennae perked high and eyes wide, when the sounds of creatures lumbering about reached him. Stretching himself up on his toes, he gazed around quickly, trying to discern where it was coming from, before he dove down into the undergrowth to hide. He wished then that he was back underground where it was safe, for the creatures came into his line of sight, and they were like _nothing _he'd ever seen before.

Though bipedal, much like Irkens, these things looked to be made of a stiff material, with a glass plate covering most of where the face might be. Though he didn't dare move, Zim squinted at them; glass was a rare thing to come by... He jumped, startled, when one of the creatures turned, revealing that it _did_ have a face beneath the glass, and what a strange face it was! Pale pink and pasty, sparsely furred, and with an odd protruding lump in the center...it had _three_ breathing holes? Its eyes were strangest of all, though, tri-colored and lacking the characteristic round shape that applied to most eyes of beings native to Irk.

Zim jumped again when it began uttering strange sounds, something incomprehensible, but he didn't care to wonder about what it was doing. All he knew was that it was pointing – at _him_. He stayed right where he was, shifting uncomfortably when the other creatures, three in total, turned to regard him, but still he did nothing; and, so long as they left him be, he would continue to do nothing.

His antennae flattened when the first started toward him, and he hissed deep in his throat, baring his teeth to warn the beast to stay back. Would it be so stupid as to try to eat him? All creatures on the planet had to know by now that to try would risk death, and all knew that a single bite from an Irken would promise that the death would be a very painful one indeed. He perked up when the being backed up slightly, its hands up in what might have been a pacifying gesture, and the noises it emitted to accompany the motion sounded friendly.

It was talking to him, Zim realized; this _thing_ was sentient! And that, he found, was the most unnerving thing of all. He yikkered quietly, expression concerned, and he drew further back into the undergrowth when the creature turned stiffly, speaking to its companions. Whatever it said brought them to laugh – such a familiar sound, and from something so different! – and Zim couldn't help but yikker nervously again, not liking the similarity, and just overall not liking anything that was happening right now. He'd never heard of any other sentient beings living on Irk...where had these things _come_ from?

He tensed up when the first being mimicked the noises he'd made, and his antennae perked as high as they would go before they flicked up and down, over and over, a clear motion that told the creatures to please just leave him alone. Or, at least, it _should_ have told them that. They remained where they were, one of them shuffling through an odd-looking container of some sort, while the one who had mimicked him tried again. _'Stop mocking me!'_ Zim spat at the beast, and it recoiled somewhat, looking surprised at the abrupt string of guttural sounds, a mix of harsh growls, trills, and clicks.

It didn't have the chance to try imitating the sounds this time, for the moment its companion pulled forth a strange device, the object emitting a sudden flash of light and a snapping noise, Zim darted away, disappearing into the foliage. The four creatures were left standing on their own, looking amongst each other in bemusement, before the first turned to chide the one holding the device.

"You just _had_ to get a picture of the first living thing we found on the planet, eh, Captain?"

"Ah...yeah. Sorry. It's just...it looked like it was about to run away at any second, so, I thought...why not?" Something around his wrist beeped then, and he regarded it for a second before tucking away his camera. "Okay guys, atmosphere's good, air's breathable; we can take our helmets off, at least."

A sigh of relief was shared by the other three, and once they'd relieved themselves of the cumbersome headgear, they found the icy chill of the planet's air to be a blessing on their heated faces. The squad's captain stared off in the direction the green-skinned creature had gone, one hand keeping his helmet tucked under one arm as the other tried to brush back a stubbornly gravity-defying lock of hair. Then, he glanced over his shoulder to his companions, inquiring, "Think there's any more of them?"

"Negative, Captain," the one woman on the squad replied, long blue-black bangs draping down over her face as she focused her gaze on a small screen. "The bioscan's not picking anything else up. It was on its own." She stowed the screen away then, and raised an eyebrow. "Good thing, too; it didn't seem very friendly. Don't you think so, Melvin?"

"It _said_ something to me," was the only response, and the small man seemed a little perturbed at the notion. "I _know_ it did! It couldn't have been some kind of animal, it-"

The third member, much older than the others in the squad, shook his head and cut in, "It _had_ to be an animal. There's no sign of civilization _anywhere_, advanced or not. ...Not much life here at all, really."

Though the words brought the other man to look pleadingly to him, the captain sighed and shrugged. "He's right, you know. Sorry." With that, he tapped at the device strapped around his wrist, which emitted another beep before he spoke into it. "Captain Membrane to Paradigm; begin preparation of transport for four. Scouting mission is nearly complete, I repeat, scouting mission is nearly complete. Planet is uninhabited and conditions are optimal. Ready a statement for the Galactic Federation; we need this planet before the week is out. Name designation: Bob. Stand by for further instruction. Over."

* * *

They'll be so surprised when they find all the Irken communities living underground! :D

I chose the squad members for specific reasons. I had to put Dib in, of course, and Melvin already wanted to be an astronaut. Meanwhile, astronaut was Sara's skool-assigned career, while Agent Darkbooty works at NASAPlace and has significant experience working with spacecraft.

And, yes, the planet's name designation of 'Bob' is, indeed, a reference, as is the name of the starship Paradigm. Cookies to those who know what I'm referencing, as usual.


	67. Morning

Finally an all-Zim prompt. xD

* * *

**MORNING**

Brilliant red, stretching across the horizon, boiling into black; more red. Up on the roof of his base, Zim watched silently, eyes narrowed, as the sun began its slow ascent. As much as he hated the Earth, he hated its sun that much more; it was too hot, it was too bright.

He hated the crimson that bled into the sky whenever it rose.

Somewhere, he had read that the Earth's sky had once been a pure blue. _Sky_ blue. He would have scoffed at the phrase, but he almost wished that the sky had remained true to its color; he saw red everywhere. Anger lined his mind with it, his lab was filled with it, he wore it himself. He even served – nearly worshiped – a Tallest of the same name, with eyes and armor of the same hue...

Red, red, red-

Zim shook his head as he glared out over the city, at the warm glow spreading across the sky to the east, and felt anger budding, to blossom into more and more of that damnable color. When the sun finally peeked its way out, he was forced to squint, but still he scowled at it, just long enough to will all his hatred towards it. He had to do something about this; he'd had enough of that accursed star.

It had to go.

He cackled then, scrambling down from the roof to enter his base, ruby eyes shining with wicked glee as he began his descent into the labs.

Red sky at morning – sailors take warning?

No. Not once he was finished. There would be no more red sky, not when all was said and done; not at sunset, nor at noon...and _especially_ not at dawn.

* * *

Blowing up the sun actually isn't a very good idea, Zim. :(

Anyway, here's the most recent references I made for you guys to guess:

1.) The end exchange of the Christmas prompt is a nod to episode 5 of Bonus Stage (if you're interested in watching it, check out BSMattW's channel on Youtube, as the website has been down for ages). 2.) Planet Bob was jokingly suggested as the name for the new Earth at the end of Titan A.E. 3.) The Paradigm is a museum starship from the webcomic Starslip Crisis.


	68. Loneliness

Not sure where this came from, but, uh...okay. Sure, brain. Whatever.

It's another all-Zim prompt, yay! Seriously, who _doesn't _love Zim? (If you don't, I can only wonder why you even watch the show. o.o)

* * *

**LONELINESS**

The first thing most people learned about Zim was that he didn't play well with others. Not through any particular fault of his own, really, and it wasn't like he was antisocial. He actually quite _liked_ people. He was simply naturally callous and stubborn; he didn't truly _intend_ for his obnoxious personality to be overbearing. He didn't _mean_ to drive away his peers. It was just in his programming to behave the way he did.

The Control Brains understood Zim, for the most part, and agreed that he showed promise; despite his flaws, and his unfortunate ability to accidentally destroy most of what he got his hands on, his determination was something to be praised. They could overlook potential defects, and so they did, removing him from his training facility to work in military science. Of course, they thought themselves smart enough to place him in a lab on Vort, where he couldn't cause any more damage to Irken property or injure his peers.

Now, if there was one thing that Zim enjoyed above anything else, it was tinkering. He loved to invent things, to build, to find out how things worked. It was a most uncommon trait in Irkens, who rarely questioned anything and were not curious beings by any means, but while he had this uncharacteristic thirst to understand, he also retained the mindset shared by his entire race.

Irkens were a hive-minded species; they were a colony, closely knit, working together towards a common goal. They were never left to themselves, and you would not expect to see one Irken without finding another nearby. Being on one's own for too long was unhealthy for them.

Invaders had to learn this the hard way.

They had the support of the entire Empire, and it was not uncommon for them to send reports daily, or every other day; but it was less to send information so much as it was an assurance. A reminder that they were still a part of the hive, that everything was okay. And, even if it was never said, those who received the reports always offered the same promise; we're here for you, you're not alone, you'll be back with us soon.

Zim had never actually intended to become an Invader, although the glory that came with conquering a planet was certainly tempting. He was more than content to continue his work in military research and development. However, it soon became clear that being left on his own had done terrible things to his psyche, and upon his creation of an energy absorbing blob, which grew out of control and began to terrorize the galaxy, he was promptly removed from Vort and placed amongst his peers once more.

But by this time, the damage had already been done. Zim's already unstable mind had been irreparably warped, and the longer he stayed amongst other Irkens, the worse he became. He had to be separated from them.

Still, the Control Brains believed he was not beyond help; they would let him off easy, for they had brought this unfortunate and dangerous state of mind upon him in the first place. They would keep him away, yes, but they would not banish him; he _needed_ his Empire, and he could still be of great use. And so, they decided to have him trained as an Invader.

Their attempt to instate him as such was unsuccessful, and ended in tragedy when half of Irk was devastated due to a simple miscalculation on Zim's part. They could tolerate no more after that.

Again, Zim was sent away, and, when he returned, once more when the Tallests finally took matters into their own hands. He would never be allowed back, that was for certain. However, no matter how disappointed they were to learn that Zim continued to thrive, they would never tell him the truth. He was not an Invader, but they let him think he was; he had been permanently exiled, but they would never admit it to his face. Even if he called on them, they would answer, no matter how much they didn't want to.

Their acceptance of his transmissions didn't promise what it usually did for Invaders, because he wasn't one. They weren't there for him, and they didn't want him to come back, but they offered one sole message, one and one only – you're not alone – in the hopes that maybe...somehow...it could fix what had gone wrong in his mind.

* * *

I think this was brought about by my wondering why the Tallests even bother answering Zim's calls. I mean, surely they can block him or something, and it's obvious they don't find _all_ of his transmissions entertaining... Meh. I dunno.


	69. Friend

I don't know HOW this ended up as long as it did. I'd intended for it to be much shorter, but I guess it got out of control. That happens a lot when I write...

* * *

**FRIEND**

A wave of dizzying sounds and smells assaulted Dib as he followed Zim into the bar, the lone feature carved into the immense asteroid. He might have missed it entirely had it not been for the great neon sign hovering over the entrance; of course, his Irken companion had known just where they were going. And judging by the way he steered Dib through the crowd of aliens, expression quite nearly bored, he still did.

The bartender gurgled something at Zim, who then turned narrowed eyes on the human. "Do you want anything?" he asked, sourly, for he knew Dib didn't have any currency that was worth anything beyond planet Earth. He didn't particularly _want_ to buy anything for him, but he offered the courtesy anyway; it was his own fault they were stuck traveling with one another.

Dib grimaced a bit, gazing about uncertainly, before he shook his head. "Uh, no...I...I'm good." He sounded as nervous as he looked, getting the Irken to let out a grating sigh and direct a quick comment in some unknown language to the bartender. He then peered around the room, large eyes calculating, before his antennae perked; well, he hadn't expected to see _him_ here of all places. "Hey-!" Dib exclaimed reflexively when Zim seized him by the upper arm, tugging him along across the dirty metal floor.

A small purple-gray alien with large horns atop his head gave a startled noise when the two stopped at his table, but smiled when his gaze landed on the Irken. "Oh, hey, Zim," he greeted, pleasant as could be, seeming to not even notice the almost pained grunt Dib emitted upon being shoved into the chair adjacent his.

"Mmhmm. Keep him out of trouble, Vens," Zim responded shortly, before turning on his heel and vanishing into the crowd.

The two watched him go, the Vortian blinking in bemusement, before they turned to regard each other. Dib had the nagging feeling that he recognized this alien from somewhere, but could only find his voice long enough to state lamely, "Uh...hi. I'm Dib." He felt that much more edgy when the other only stared at him, and was even more worried when he began to laugh, only managing another pathetic 'um' in response.

When the alien had calmed down enough to speak, he did, sounding apologetic, though there was a definite smile of amusement on his face. "You're new to outer space, aren't you?"

Dib stared at him for a moment before replying uncertainly, "Uh...yeah. How could you tell?"

"Well, not to be rude or anything, but your conduct is all wrong," he answered with a little shrug. "Think about it. If you introduced yourself to a Planet Jacker that way, they'd probably crush your head in or something." The amusement in his smile faded to instead match the earlier apologetic tone he'd used when Dib winced, and he added hesitantly, "Sorry, but it's stuff you should know. Zim probably never got around to telling you or anything...he's kind of forgetful that way."

For a moment, Dib wondered where the alien knew Zim from, before a vague and distant memory suddenly came back to him. "Hey, I've seen you before!" he exclaimed, pointing. "You were one of the prisoners on planet Vort!"

"Number 777, to be exact," the alien confirmed, looking a bit smug. "Until the Resisty broke me out, at least. I've been on the run from the Irken Empire for a while now." He chuckled at that, almost as if it wasn't a big deal, though his voice carried a hint of awed disbelief when he added, "Never thought I'd see my name on a list of Irk's most wanted criminals; Vens Mer, hardened criminal! Ha!"

Unable to help a little smile, Dib nodded. "Yeah, I know how that is. Zim got himself in some kind of trouble, and...well, he got me involved, so...guilt through association, I guess." Vens Mer chuckled again, an agreeable sort of sound, and the teenager felt brave enough to ask, "So, how _should_ I introduce myself?"

The Vortian's eyes twinkled with amusement, and he replied simply, "Depends on the race, really." Dib squinted at him uncertainly, bringing him to explain, "Okay, see...my race, Vortians...well, we're an affable lot, so we're fine with a 'hello' and a pat to the back, nice stuff like that, you know? You don't even have to give your name, really. But take a Meekrob; those guys are pretty stuck up. They're all business and formalities, so they don't like it if you're too familiar with 'em. Ah, and then there's the Slorbians; you have to actually _scream_ at them if you want them to even look at you. ...Get what I'm saying?"

"Uh, yeah...I think so," Dib confirmed with another nod, though his brows were furrowed; it would have been a much stranger concept, but he knew that Earth cultures had their own differences when it came to greetings and introductions. It brought him to muse over the possibilities, which brought him to ask, "Hey, how would you greet an Irken?"

Vens Mer scratched at one horn absently at that, and glanced over in the direction Zim had gone, before finally he shrugged. "Uh, no one knows, really."

"Huh?"

"Yeah, it's weird. Take this, for example; I met Zim when he was sent to the same research facility I was working at at the time," Vens told him. "Now, we had this other Irken hanging around, a pretty tall guy – didn't talk to anyone, didn't look at anyone – he's just there to make sure Zim shows up. Eventually he does, and as soon as they meet, Zim salutes him, gives his name and rank and all that, and everything's fine. The tall guy just nods, gives him his assignments, and leaves. Typical Irken introduction. Seems pretty basic, right?"

"More or less," Dib agreed.

The Vortian shook his head with a huff. "Yeah, you'd think that, wouldn't you? Now, I was a lower rank than Zim back then; the facility was funded by the Irken Empire, see, so Irken workers were automatically given higher ranks. No surprise, really. So, I thought I'd try the salute, give him my name and rank, the whole thing. Want to know what he did?" He hardly waited for the teen to nod before he finished bluntly, "He glared at me and walked away."

"What, really? Just like that?"

"Just like that," Vens confirmed. "He refused to talk to me for a while after that, too; a whole month, actually, before the head scientists got tired of it, and forced him to work on the same project I was assigned to."

Dib's eyebrows raised, and he couldn't keep the impressed look off his face when he commented, "Wow, and I thought he hated _me_. ...And I introduced myself by trying to get him vivisected!"

Recognition poured into Vens' expression then, and he laughed, "Oh, you're _that_ Dib! From Arth, yeah?"

"Earth, actually," Dib corrected, smiling; apparently Zim had mentioned him before.

It was confirmed when the Vortian laughed again, voice full of amusement as he said, "He used to call me _all the time_ just to complain about you! How in the _voids_ did you end up traveling with him?"

"It's a _really_ long story," the teen sighed, sounding overwhelmed at the mere thought of it. He was distracted from it when he considered his companion's words, however, and couldn't help but ask, "Hey, why would Zim call you if he doesn't like you?"

"Irkens are pretty weird, like I said. After the whole disaster when we first met, once we started working together, Zim just acted like it never even happened," Vens responded with a little shrug. "I mean...yeah, he was rude and everything, but...that's just typical Zim. He's rude to everyone." Scratching at his chin, the Vortian frowned a bit, staring up at the ceiling. "But, really...I dunno why he calls me. I'd say it's because we started getting along the longer we worked together, and that maybe he enjoys my company, but...yeah. Irkens don't really think the same way the rest of us do. Maybe he still hates me, and I just can't tell. I can't even tell if he really hates _you_."

Dib scoffed, eyes flicking upward. "Oh, no, he hates me, all right."

"Well, he hasn't killed you yet, has he? Oh, hey, and didn't he tell me I should keep you out of trouble?" Vens reminded him pointedly, nodding in satisfaction when a baffled look began to inch across the human's face. "See what I mean? Irkens – they just don't make sense."

Now that he thought about it, he could see that the Vortian had a point, and a very good one. Zim could have easily tossed him out into open space ages ago, yet here they both were, still traversing the universe as an unwilling team. Rubbing at his temples, Dib gave an almost exasperated little groan; suddenly, now that he was questioning the actual reasons behind the things Zim did, his rival was even _more_ incomprehensible! Did Zim even see him as a rival?! He couldn't tell anymore! "I never thought I'd end up having a mental breakdown in an asteroid bar," he stated pathetically, elbows against the metal table and his head cradled in his hands, fingers buried in his hair. It was a perfect pose to match the tone he'd used.

Vens patted him on the arm sympathetically. "I guess it doesn't help that it's Zim, and not some other Irken. He's one of the more confusing ones, really."

"Lovely," Dib sighed, sitting up a little to prop his chin in his palms. The Vortian had a concerned look on his face, bringing the teen to offer a slight smile in his direction, letting him know he was fine. He didn't really want to worry Vens; he'd been nice so far, certainly much nicer than most people were to him. There just seemed to be something about Dib that rubbed nearly everyone the wrong way. Strangely enough, the concept brought to light a possible explanation of Irken behavior. "Hey, I just thought of something...about how you could properly greet an Irken..."

"Yeah?"

"Well...maybe you _can't_, unless you _are_ an Irken." Vens stared at him inquisitively, bringing Dib to clarify with a slight shrug, "Maybe just being an alien makes them mad."

There was a brief silence before Vens started laughing, reaching over to clap him on the shoulder. "Possible, very possible!" he giggled, barely managing to get the words out. Dib couldn't help but grin, feeling proud of himself, and his cheeks flushed a little when the Vortian calmed enough to add, "You're a bit odd, but...I like you! You're a good kid!"

"Um, thanks," Dib replied awkwardly, unused to being on the receiving end of something so positive. Unsure of how to react beyond that, he only offered another hesitant smile, and averted his gaze. Peering instead in the direction of the bar, he spotted Zim amidst the throng of gathered aliens, heading towards their table. The Irken was balancing a tray of snacks precariously with one hand, and carried three drinks; one in his free hand, with the other two being held aloft by cords from his PAK.

Upon reaching them, Zim slammed everything down, an explosive sigh of aggravation escaping him when he collapsed in the seat between the two. "The service here is _pathetic_!" he growled, tearing open a snack bag. "_Pah_! Just goes to show how inefficient businesses are without the Empire's supervision." Vens and Dib only exchanged uncertain glances as he downed a handful of chips, and, with his mouth still mostly full, Zim gestured towards one cup, voice rather garbled as he spoke around his food. "That's yours, Vens. So you keep quiet about meeting us here."

The Vortian chuckled a little, taking it. "Oh, you know that won't be a problem, Zim," he replied congenially, downing a long sip of the drink. He gave a satisfied sound, grinning at Zim. "A Bespian Berryblender; my favorite! Aww, thanks, you remembered!"

With a slight snort, Zim swallowed his mouthful and merely slid the second extra cup in front of Dib, glaring up at him all the while. "I didn't ask for anything," Dib pointed out before he could say anything, which only brought another snort from the Irken.

"They had _water_ here, so I got some for you. You better be grateful," Zim bit out, eyes narrowing further, but he didn't start ranting angrily as he often would have. He simply turned back to his snacks, shoving another handful of chips into his mouth and grumbling something akin to 'stupid human' as he did so.

Quite near stunned, Dib reached for the cup almost mechanically, the only safe reaction he could think of. How was he _supposed _to react to such a thing, to a thoughtful gesture from his rival, however unintentionally thoughtful it might be? Numbly, he sipped from the cup, the cool liquid incredibly refreshing after weeks of processed foods and drinks, and it took him a while before he could think of any proper response. It was only due to Vens, persistently mouthing something and directing subtle nods toward Zim, that he realized just what that proper response was.

"Um...thank you, Zim." It was something he never thought he'd say to the Irken Invader. He didn't really expect the response he received, either.

A shrug. A nod. "You are welcome, Dib-thing."

There wasn't a trace of malice in his words.

* * *

You have no idea how many times I've seen people refer to Prisoner 777 as 'Sven', and even though the reasons for it are obvious, it gets a little tiring and seems overdone. So, I use 'Vens Mer' or simply 'Vens' just to mix it up a bit (bad joke intended). Not that it matters or anything.

I wasn't originally going to have Zim rejoin them, but I couldn't think of any way to properly end it with just Dib and Vens, and, due to the fact that they were in a bar, I didn't want to imply that Zim was just getting drunk or something. No, I'm saving my version of a drunk Zim, as well as an explanation of why alcohol might affect him, for a later prompt. :D

Meanwhile, I've actually thought long and hard about Irken social norms, based on how they interact with other Irkens (and particularly other aliens) in the actual show. I'd go into it here, but I doubt anyone really cares enough to read a long, boring essay. XD


	70. Pet

Whoops; forgot to post yesterday. Hmm. Sorry about that, guys. :( And, unfortunately, the prompts to follow will probably come at a somewhat slower rate, as (amongst other things) I have been trying to finish late Christmas art for friends and family. So, until further notice, I'll be posting every other day. Hopefully. If I fail miserably at that, then at the very _least_, there'll still be one or two prompts a week. But anyway...

I had two separate ideas for this, but this one won out. I might do the losing idea some other time, depending.

* * *

**PET**

There was no possible way that Dib could feel guilty when it came to laughing at Zim, so when the disguised Irken let out a high-pitched scream, jumping up onto the couch, the first thing he _did _was laugh. The cause of Zim's outburst had already darted out of the room, tail bushed up, and yet the alien remained where he was, clinging to the armrest with wide eyes, bringing his rival to laugh even harder.

"What on Irk _was_ that?!" Zim spat at him, expecting that some kind of human trickery was at fault. He snarled when Dib only continued to giggle madly, collapsing on the cushions next to him, and eventually grew tired of it. Fortunately, a punch to the arm was enough to shut the human up.

Frowning now, and rubbing at the sore spot, Dib replied flatly, "That was my new kitten. She's friendly; she was just trying to say hi."

His nemesis only glared at him suspiciously, before he growled, "It snuck up on Zim, it's EVIL!" Indeed, she had crept up behind the Irken; it had been her unexpectedly weaving between his legs that had brought him to scream, and he'd nearly tripped over both her and his own feet in his hasty attempt to get away from her.

Quite amusing, overall, so Dib only grinned at him, getting up and calling for the poor terrified cat. Zim's aggravated hiss was thoroughly ignored, in favor of coaxing her back out into the living room.

He'd done it with the sole intention of annoying the alien, but he soon learned that he'd underestimated just how friendly his kitten really was. And, as was so often the case, Dib was the one who ended up annoyed. For once she'd gotten over the initial shock of the poor meeting, and Zim deemed her harmless, she spent the better part of an hour curled up on the Irken's lap.

* * *

Feel free to decide exactly why Zim is at Dib's house. Oh, and it's a black cat, if anyone cares. Yeah, I guess Dib and Gaz decided that since having a dog didn't work out, they'd try a cat instead. It was probably Gaz's idea, though; Dib seems like more of a dog person to me. Zim, on the other hand, would probably prefer cats (assuming he would even care about Earth animals at all); he's already had quite a few unpleasant scrapes with dogs, after all. XD


	71. Grow

Some Dib, but mostly Zim. Tried the present tense that I used in the second part of 'Life', only with more detail. I think it came out okay... Still like past tense better, though.

* * *

**GROW**

The class knows no end of the relief when they hear the news; a substitute teacher. The old crone, the terrifying woman always looming over them, hissing at them, has vanished without so much a trace – very mysterious, people say! – and thus the children are left in the hands of another woman, a different one with different methods and different ideals.

She is of average height, and slender, with a soft heart-shaped face that always seems to have a kind smile upon it. Her voice is quiet, but sweet, and in the entire first week she is there, she doesn't yell at them, not even once. She is even patient with Zim's outbursts, and the inevitable responding complaints from Dib. In the hopes that it will bring them closer together figuratively, she seats them next to each other to bring them closer _literally._

It fails. Miserably.

She learns to simply live with their mutual dislike, and tunes them out in favor of giving the class the learning experience they deserved from the very beginning. There are many class activities, and she makes classwork as fun as she can, turning much of it into a game. When the students do well, they receive no homework. Dib likes this, as it means he has more time to chase after Zim; he likes the new teacher. Zim, too, is glad for the decrease in schoolwork, as it means he can spend his hours plotting the downfall of Earth.

He, however, does not like the new teacher.

Not solely because she is human, though; no, not really. Zim dislikes her for another reason, one that has to do with a long and colorful poster she pinned up to the wall, soon after her stay as their teacher was announced to be permanent. The other students find the poster, and the weekly ritual surrounding it, to be a boost to their self-confidence. It endears them further to the woman, but unlike the others, ZIM will not be swayed.

The ritual is almost an insult to him, a blow to his ego, for no matter how many times the teacher might measure him against the poster, no matter how many times she might gently lie and tell him otherwise, Zim will never be any taller.

* * *

I never liked being measured in grade school, either; I was one of the shortest kids in my class, too. xD;


	72. Japan

This was seriously a blast to write. I'm glad my friend gave me the idea. You're awesome, Emi. Way awesome.

Warnings: Poking fun at shonen anime and, really, anime as a whole. There will thus be some mocking usage of Wapanese. May contain out of character shenanigans, hopefully be excessively over the top, and contain things that murder and beat the corpse of science and all it encompasses. Oh, and there's also a reference to a really terrible yet somehow awesome fanfiction (specifically, 'Gundam Wing Final Battle' by Peter Chimaera).

* * *

**JAPAN**

Dib awoke suddenly, energetically front-flipping out of his bedsheets to land nimbly on his feet, striking a pose, and then another for good measure. Even though he was still in his pajamas, or perhaps _because_ he was still in his pajamas, he would not have seemed out of place in a sentai team. "GOOD MORNING, EARTH!" he exclaimed dramatically, before rushing into the bathroom to pile gel into his already insanely spiky hair.

Once he was finished, he dashed out and down to the kitchen, his trademark long and lightening-bolt-shaped lock of hair nearly smacking his sister across the face in the process.

She punched him in the arm for it the moment she joined him in the kitchen, but Dib didn't begrudge her for it. He knew Gaz loved him in her own way, for she was tsundere, and that was just what she did.

"Zim's been up to something CRAZY this week, Gaz, I just _know _it!" the teen told her excitedly, and in a fashion that was as epic as it could be provided it was only said while buttering toast. He threw in another spastic pose once he was finished, just in case his words alone hadn't been enough to get the message of being epic across to her.

Gaz only rolled her eyes, stuffed some cereal in her mouth, and grumbled around it, "Shut up, you baka." She continued to jam cereal in her mouth even as the house began to tremble around them, before it shook with enough force to nearly knock Dib off his very feet. He didn't fall, though, no he did not! For he was a hero, and heroes do not fall! (He might have stumbled, however.)

Zooming out of the kitchen to the front door, leaving his buttered toast behind to suffer an eventual fate of sogginess, he grabbed the handle, intent on finding the cause of the disruption. Then, deciding on a much better way to go about that, he dove out the window, glass exploding around him as he gracefully rolled onto the front lawn without so much as a scratch on him. Ignoring Gaz yelling about how he'd better fix that window later, Dib jumped to his feet to meet the gaze of his worst enemy-

...Oh, wait, hold on. His enemy was higher up than he'd been expecting.

Squinting in the bright sunlight, which framed the death mech from behind, making it seem that much more impressively large and shadowing its front to lend a further intimidating appearance, Dib quickly located its command center. He spotted the alien form of his mortal enemy behind the glass, safely hidden within to control the mighty robot, and shook his fist up at him, shouting, "You won't get away with this, ZIM! I'm going to stop you once and for all – TODAY!"

With that, and one last dramatic pose, he began to focus his innate superpowers, building energy bit by bit.

In the pilot seat of the massive mech, the alien cackled madly. "As if you could, pathetic DIB! Let's see if you can stop me from destroying your smelly planet...in SPACE!" With an incredible roar of engines, the great robot powered up, blasting up into the atmosphere.

A determined look on his face, Dib glared as it rose into the sky, and, clenching a fist, he growled with as much determination as was in his expression, "Then let us fly...to SPACE COMBAT!" And without an ounce of hesitation, Dib rocketed after him, brilliant energy surrounding him as the two sped into the sky at supersonic speeds.

Through the clouds they soared, up through the stratosphere and into the mesosphere and beyond, before they came to face each other in the dark reaches of space above the little blue planet. Safe within the cockpit of his mech, Zim snarled and slammed his gloved fists on the controls, annoyed that the simple little creature had dared to follow him. "Idiot ningen! I'm going to crush you like the pest you _so are_!"

Grinning wickedly, and ignoring his SIR unit's comment of 'But he's so kawaii!', Zim smacked his hand down on a great red button. There would be no way the human could survive _this _attack! From seemingly nowhere, the robot drew a massive energy sword, which glowed brightly as it began to gather power for a devastating swing.

A smirk on his face, Dib let his own energy surround him, his incredible super-abilities allowing him to remain unaffected by the intense vacuum of space, because that's just how science works. "That all you _got_, Zim?" he chuckled, their words somehow reaching each other despite the lack of air to carry sound through the surrounding void, because honestly, who even _cares_ about such basic facts when you've got a super-human about to fight a giant _death mech_? "You'll have to do better than that to defeat _me_..."

Is it possible that there is a possibility of Dib being _right_? Is Zim's incredible battle-mech not enough to defeat his greatest foe, even with a giant energy sword? Or will the evil alien prove our hero wrong, dooming the Earth and the entire human civilization?

Stay tuned for the next installment of...INVADER JIM.

Er, I mean-

INVADER ZIM.

...Yeah.

* * *

I'd say I'm sorry for writing this, but...I'm not. I love it. XD

Fun fact #1: A sentai team is made up of any number of costumed heroes, typically three to five (though there may be more), with five being the most common, and each hero will generally be outfitted in a color matching their power or personality. The Power Rangers are probably the best example of a sentai team. Magical girl teams, such as the Sailor Scouts, can also count as sentai teams.

Fun fact #2: Technically, in Japanese, as there is no 'zi' sound in the langage, Zim's name would be written as 'Ji-mu', basically translating to 'Jim'. (Hence the 'Invader Jim' joke.)

I'd translate the Wapanese terms I used, but I figure you can look them up on your own if you really care. Just...for the sake of my sanity, _please _don't use the words unless you're _actually_ fluent in Japanese (and no, fluent does _not _mean knowing a handful of common anime terms). Oh, and to anyone who's anal and intends on correcting me over the usage of 'tsundere', I'm well aware that it's typically used for romantic interests of the main character, yes, but in this case, I figured it could work in referring to the familial love between siblings. So...yeah.

...Gonna stop rambling now. 8D


	73. Britain

I actually looked up addresses and directions in order to write parts of this. It was pretty entertaining, to be honest. Also, thanks to Tim for helping me think up things to write for this; you're awesome, man! :D

Warning: It is possibly a very British prompt. (Or, maybe not. I just wanted to type that.)

* * *

**BRITAIN**

Standing outside of a small juice bar, Dib struggled somewhat with the enormous map he held, eying it critically as he turned it this way and that before he stared up at the street marker, baffled. Fleet Street, it said, but that just _couldn't_ be right; Dib was very certain that they'd been going in the complete opposite direction, how had they ended up _here_?

To his left, Zim rummaged a hand through the bag of 'crisps' he'd gotten at the establishment behind them, still looking disgruntled at finding out that they were nothing more than chips, and looking equally disgruntled by the fact that his companion wasn't really doing anything productive. True, he hadn't exactly expected anything otherwise from whatever 'travel buddy' he ended up with, but he'd hoped that at least _Dib_ would have been more on top of things.

Apparently not.

"Um...I think it's this way," Dib guessed, pointing westward and starting in that direction. Though not convinced, Zim didn't particularly care, and so just shrugged and trudged along behind him.

"Where were we going again?" the Irken asked blandly, nibbling on the corner of a chip (or crisp; whichever).

Squinting down at the map, the man scanned over the many tiny lines, then dug into his pocket to procure a small slip of paper. "The...Oval, I think it's called?" He nodded a moment later, having read whatever was on the slip, which he shoved back into his pocket. "The Kennington Oval, yeah. I don't think we're anywhere _close_, though. I have no idea where we are!"

"Really. I couldn't tell," Zim replied flatly, flicking his eyes skyward and tossing the rest of the nibbled chip into his mouth. They were surprisingly tasty; quite salty, and with a nice spicy hint. He didn't usually care for spicy things. Or Earth snacks, for _that _matter.

Shooting a dirty look back at his rival, and wishing their instructor had paired him with someone else, Dib sighed and rubbed at his forehead with the hand not occupied with folds upon folds of map-paper. "I guess we can just ask someone else for directions..." When the alien agreed with a bored shrug of one shoulder, they began to walk, at one point having to edge around a large police box, which seemed more like it had been haphazardly dropped there rather than it actually belonging in that particular spot.

Eventually, after much questioning of passing locals and the occasional fellow tourist, they finally located someone who had a proper idea of what Dib and Zim were trying to do, and knew _exactly _how they'd gotten themselves lost. Apparently, they had been going the wrong way. Also, apparently, Dib's map wasn't even of London, which explained why he hadn't been able to find Fleet Street anywhere _on_ the damned thing.

He had to wonder what had possessed him to grab the wrong map, pay for it, and peruse it without even noticing that he was doing something stupid.

"East along Fleet Street," the stranger told them, pointing in the proper direction, "Until you get to New Bridge Street. Turn right, and make sure you _keep_ on the right and pass by Victoria Embankment; you want to go down the A201. It goes right across the Thames, you really can't miss it." She went on with further instructions, which Dib jotted down as quick as he could, thanking her once he had what he needed.

Zim had already trailed ahead, so, with one final 'thank you' and a friendly wave to the woman, Dib jogged to catch up with him, smiling wearily down at the directions he held. "Well, that was a hassle, but at least we know where to go now," he said conversationally, not entirely bothered when the Irken only responded with a bland 'mmhmm'.

"Why are we _going_ to this circley place, anyway?" Zim grumbled, frowning down at his chip bag, which was now depressingly empty.

"Well...I thought it'd be cool to watch one of the cricket games," Dib responded with a little shrug, folding up the useless map and depositing it into the next trash can they passed. As his rival tossed the chip bag in after it, he found that one side of the alien's mouth was curling into an almost-frown, with a contact-covered eye narrowing somewhat; it was an expression that typically preceded a demand for an explanation, so, with a sigh, he added, "I'm not really sure how the game works. It's kind of like baseball...I _think_."

Zim waved his words off, and, tone carrying a heavy undercurrent of distaste, merely asked, "The game is called _cricket_?"

A little bit thrown off by the way the alien had voiced the question, Dib only stared at him in confusion for a moment. Then, he shrugged. "Yeah. What's wrong with that?"

"Uh..._everything_, maybe?" Zim huffed, now sounding almost angry, for whatever stupid reason. Maybe even no reason at all. They hadn't argued in a whole and altogether impressive forty-five minutes, so perhaps he was just acting difficult to get a rise out of his adversary. It wouldn't do to be so friendly with each other, after all.

After staring, baffled, for just a moment more, finally Dib decided it just wasn't worth it to acknowledge Zim's weirdness sometimes. He didn't even really want to _know _why Zim found the name of a sport to be annoying or offensive, if he even did at all. "O...kay... Sure, whatever," he sighed, stuffing his hands into his pockets and turning his gaze ahead of them; he spotted the juice bar from earlier as they walked.

He could feel Zim's eyes on him, knew that he was scowling, but mercifully, the Irken kept quiet, and they spent the next few minutes in relative silence. He was almost startled when his rival spoke up again, even more so when the sleeve of his trenchcoat was tugged on. "Hey," Zim started insistently, tugging harder on the fabric. "Didn't we pass by a police-human box near here?"

"Huh...yeah, I'm pretty sure," Dib replied, blinking in polite bemusement. He adjusted his glasses, and peered over his shoulder to point. "It was right over- ...Nowhere." The sidewalk was devoid of any sign of a police box, and he and Zim exchanged confused glances, before both of them shrugged and continued onward, Dib mumbling to himself, "That's pretty weird..."

Another long relative silence settled over them, to later be broken, once again by Zim. "I can't _believe_ you humans would be so disgusting as to name a game _cricket_," he grumbled irritably.

"Yes, _okay_, I get it. Humans are horrible. You can _shut up _about it now."

* * *

It was pretty handy for me that Fleet Street just so happened to be only an hour's walk from the Kennington Oval. Especially since I'd really only chosen Fleet Street because of Sweeney Todd. XD Additional references were made for Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (of course) and Doctor Who. I was actually going to have the Doctor appear for a second, but couldn't figure out a way to work him in, and I'm honestly only familiar with the fourth Doctor. Speaking of, the fourth Doctor is adorable, and I want his scarf. WANT.

I was originally going to have them walking through Kensington Gardens to pass by the Peter Pan statue, but I forgot about it and wrote this instead. But it probably works better this way, anyhow.


	74. World

I didn't want to use something so obvious as 'Zim takes over the world' for this prompt. So, again, thanks to Emi for this idea. Everyone praise Emi, for she is filled with much awesome. :D

Warning: Usage of a lame old meme.

* * *

**WORLD**

Having his disguise technology break was only the first of many irritating occurrences that month. Zim wasn't the best with piecing together his own costumes, and he hated having to resort to using human fabrics to do so; not because it was altogether uncomfortable or anything. No, some human fabrics were actually pretty soft, and fitted nicely against his skin.

What he really hated about using them...was having to _pay_ for them. With _human_ monies.

It had been easy enough to get a bank account, as ingenious as he was. With all the advanced tech he owned, bypassing security programs and hacking through systems had been an equally simple matter; he didn't even need to provide proof of his identity. (He'd long since created a false one, however, just in case. Boy, did Earth government databases need more protective measures!)

It was this lack of security that brought him so much frustration, though; his monies were disappearing from his account! And he _needed_ those monies to appear normal! (Of course, it never occurred to Zim that he could simply steal whatever fabrics he needed.)

He eventually tracked down the cause for his dwindling funds, which brings us to his current irritation: GIR. The SIR unit was seated on the couch, a controller in his hand and a wireless headset perched precariously on his head, the latter of which he was babbling into nonsensically. On the television screen, his character jumped up and down crazily in the same spot, as various other characters stared in what might have been utter bafflement. They were clearly controlled by other people, given that one of them started talking, sounding aggravated as he asked, "G-Dog, what is _wrong_ with you?"

"GIR!" Zim snapped sharply, drawing the robot's attention to him; on-screen, his character came to an immediate halt, and there were various concerned mumbles from the rest of his party. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I'm goin' on a raid!" GIR squealed, pointing at the television. "We gonna make so much EE-EX-PEE, and then I'ma make a new guy cuz the old one's gonna get eaten by a dragon!" This pulled yet more mumbles from his party, this time of confusion, but the insane SIR ignored it (or, more likely, didn't notice) in order to beam up at his master.

The Irken crossed his arms, glaring down at GIR and growling, "You have been costing Zim _three hundred Earth monies_ per _month_, GIR!"

"But I had ta make a buncha new guys so I could be queen of da rainbow goblins!" the robot argued, nonsensically, if the party's continued noises of bewilderment were of any indication.

"Three hundred per _month_, GIR!" Zim repeated angrily, tapping one foot to further display his ire.

He was further aggravated when the robot's attention was pulled away from him by one of the other players asking wearily, "Are we gonna do this or not, G-Dog? We need to destroy all the kobolds with our nukes, so we kinda need a healer, and...well...you're the only one around right now." After a brief pause, the person added on, very quietly, "Unfortunately."

Ignoring Zim's demand for him to listen, GIR squealed something that might have been an agreement. As soon as he did, his character promptly dashed away from the rest of his group and into a cave full of monsters, the robot screaming gleefully, "LEEEEEEEEEROY JENKINS!"

"Augh, no! NO! Oh, _dude_, COME ON!" one of the other players exclaimed in disgust. "What the hell's your _problem_?!"

As the other players hurried after the insane SIR's character, another could be heard groaning, "We're all gonna _die_..."

The ensuing explosions were quite mesmerizing, and after an hour of watching GIR frustrate other people, switch between no less than forty different characters, and kill himself somewhere around one hundred and twenty seven times, Zim rather forgot exactly what the robot had done to annoy him in the first place.

He also ended up having to pay an extra twenty dollars every month when he made an account for himself, intending to somehow take over Earth using it. ...He wound up forgetting that, too.

...In his defense, it was a _very_ addicting game.

* * *

Then Dib would find out about his (forgotten) plan, and would also sign up for an account, only he'd lose focus of what he was doing, too. Then they'd end up in raids together and even join the same party, helping each other level up and get treasure and stuff, without even realizing that they were getting along, because they'd still be horrible to each other outside the game. xD;

Random useless fact: I have never played an MMORPG in my life. All I really know about World of Warcraft is that it's addictive, there's night elves and bull-people, and also you go on raids and stuff. Oh, and as Gabe would say, it's a job; a job you pay for. XD


	75. America

Not much else to say here, aside from, once again, you should note that Zim's views are different from my own. :)

* * *

**AMERICA**

The droning of moronic worm-babies echoed around him, and Zim paid only minimal attention to what they were saying. He'd heard these words hundreds of times before, and it never ceased to amaze him how they adhered so loyally to the tradition, while still managing to show no loyalty whatsoever to their nation. Well, at the very least, he could almost admire their consistency.

Almost.

Leaning back in his chair, the disguised Irken tucked his hands behind his head, mouthing the next words mockingly. _'And to the republic, for which it stands...' _It wouldn't stand for much longer; he'd see to that. He giggled a little, but the sound earned a suspicious glance from a certain bespectacled boy across the room, so he was quick to quiet himself.

Zim sneered slightly at another little snippet; _'under God'_. He hated religion. Stupid and useless, the lot of it, and it didn't help that the meat-sacks insisted on shoving it right in his face. He saw it _everywhere;_ there was a shrine to it on every other corner! _Pathetic._

_'With liberty and justice for all.'_

He'd never seen such things, not once in all his time on this planet. There was no liberty; whether they knew it or not, the humans were always being controlled by _something_, be it their government or not. He saw no _justice_, either. Humans held only the basest sense of morality, of honor; even their law enforcement system was corrupt.

Zim knew all of this, and that was why he refused to say the Pledge of Allegiance. He didn't care if others viewed him as strange for it; they already thought him strange, one more oddity couldn't hurt. He simply didn't want to swear fealty – however false – to a nation that thrived on hypocrisy.

No, there was no such thing as liberty or justice here. Nothing akin to fairness, or righteousness. If it was...if it was truly just and right, if everything here was fair and moral...

...Dib might have been able to expose him ages ago.

This nation, with its pledge filled with sweet lies and deceit, was helping its invader by ignoring its savior, by refusing to offer justice, righteousness, to the one person who could protect the planet. It was ironic, really.

Zim grinned then, and thought that perhaps thanks were in order; so perhaps tomorrow, just maybe, he might stand up and place his hand over his heart after all.

* * *

That's a little mean, Zim. D:

Twenty-five prompts through the second list, meaning I'm a quarter finished! Whoo! Many thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far! You guys never fail to brighten my day! 8D


	76. Flag

A follow-up of 'Sick', because I had this goofy idea, and thought it was funny. ...As I said before in that very prompt, I need to stop writing every single idea that pops into my head. XD

Oh, yeah, and just like before, this is TOTALLY not a crossover.

* * *

**FLAG**

The operation had gone surprisingly well, according to his doctors, but Dib wasn't entirely sure what it had been for. He'd heard them talking about a biopsy beforehand, but he was pretty sure they'd already done plenty of those, and biopsies usually didn't involve rifling through most of a person's major organs.

Whatever the reason for it, though, he did feel a whole lot better than he had before, when he'd been coughing up blood and wavering dizzily at the slightest provocation.

Strangely, Dib even felt all right about Zim coming to visit him, even if the Irken had only visited him to demand that he not die. At least, that was what he _thought_ he'd been demanding; Zim had been screaming at the time, so it was hard to make out anything he was saying. Either way, it was nice. ...Relatively nice. ...Okay, maybe not even that, but even if he and Zim didn't really like each other, Dib couldn't help but feel a bit happier that someone had cared enough to visit him.

He ignored the fact that if Zim had been the one to get him so terribly sick, he would have only shown up to gloat about it.

The glass door slid open then, and Dib looked up from the magazine in his lap to see the cane-wielding doctor from before, wheeling a small table with a microscope on it in front of him, with the rest of his medical team trailing along behind him. All three of them looked somewhat confused. Their boss just seemed like he was about to start laughing. Dib wasn't sure if he should be worried or not, and so just asked, "What did you find?"

"Lots of things," came the response. "Lots of little _tiny_ things. Want to see? Got a bunch of 'em right in here." The cane came up off the ground to point at the petri dish the scope was positioned over, and Dib glanced between it and the man uncertainly.

"Uh...does this mean you know how to cure me?" he prompted hopefully, pulling the device over to him, but not looking into it just yet.

The team seemed even more uncomfortable when the man thumped his cane back against the floor, turning back to them to ask, "We got all of them, right?" After a brief and somewhat awkward pause, the wavy blond-haired doctor nodded hesitantly, and his boss turned back around, smiling in a way that seemed almost mockingly happy. "Well, then. Ta-da! You're cured! Now look at what we found stuck all over your organs; it is _really_ cool."

Lips drawn in a thin line, Dib stared at him for a moment before sighing and leaning to peer into the microscope. His first thought upon seeing what the petri dish contained was that he ought to beat Zim over the head with something the moment he was discharged. His second thought was that, actually, he probably shouldn't.

Who _knew_ how obnoxious Zim might get, especially if he knew that all the tiny Irken flags he'd jammed into a variety of Dib's organs had ended up putting him in the hospital.

* * *

I still think it's hilarious that Zim more or less claimed Dib as Irken property. :D


	77. Cigarette

This didn't really come out how I wanted it to, but...whatever.

Warnings: Crude language/slang, homophobia

* * *

**CIGARETTE**

Truly, Earth slang made no sense. Before his upgrade to 'hi skool student' status, Zim had never really taken much notice of it, as he could figure out the basic gist of some of it. 'Cool', he had learned, applied not just to temperature, but to one's approval rating amongst peers. 'Fat' was similar, sometimes referring to how cool someone was rather than how overweight they might be, but in typical nonsensical human fashion, this was only when the word was spelled with a 'ph'.

As though it made it sound any different.

Coolness and being phat did not concern Zim today, however; as of right now, his troubles lay in slang that was not immediately discernible, and it didn't help that the words seemed to be insults. It especially didn't help that said insults seemed to be anything but derogatory; from what his translator could decipher, they seemed to hold no negative meaning whatsoever! They were nothing but common words!

He blamed hi skool, yet again; before he and the rest of his peers had ventured into its foreboding halls, the most he had suffered was the occasional jibe about his 'dress'. And thanks to his persistence in wearing his uniform, the other students had mockingly referred to him as a girl more times than he could even bother to remember. In a way, it was no different in hi skool; the only thing that changed was the insults. The reason behind the insults underwent a subtle change, as well. Before, his peers had simply found it funny that he was a male wearing a dress; now, they seemed to care not about what he was wearing, but rather _why_ he was wearing it in the first place.

Unfortunately, the football team turned out to hold the greatest amount of interest in whatever reason they expected him to have, and thus saw fit to torment him for it at every chance they got. Zim was lucky today, really; usually Torque thought it great fun to practice the fine art of making people-pretzels on him, but not today. No, today Zim would not have to pop any part of his skeleton back into place; instead, he just had to suffer having a load of incomprehensible rubbish spouted in his face.

He was currently being pushed up against the lockers, his PAK uncomfortably squeezed between tacky green metal and spine, three of the skool's prized jocks guffawing stupidly behind their ringleader, their precious quarterback. Zim would have snarled up at Torque if the teen's meaty hand hadn't been shoved against his throat to pin him down.

Apparently he'd acted out of line when he snapped at them for calling him gay when he was clearly not; how could they _possibly_ think he was happy when he'd been glaring at everything that moved?!

Zim especially wasn't happy now; he'd rather like to be able to breathe again. He gritted his teeth in annoyance when, much to the amusement of the others, one of Torque's buddies chortled, "It's like he's so gay, he doesn't even _know_ it." Oh, yes, certainly Zim was _delighted_ about the fact that he was being strangled.

He gasped for air the moment he was released, and ended up sprawled on the floor when the beefy teen shoved him with a mean chuckle; not that it would get to Zim. None of it would. Once he'd caught his breath, he simply glared up at them again, spitting out, "For the last time, Zim is _not happy_."

"Fuckin' dumbass, he's callin' you a homo," Torque bit out with a roll of his eyes, frowning back at his posse and gesturing towards the disguised Irken, as if to say 'Can you believe this guy?'

That word...? Picking himself up off the floor, Zim grinned then, practically beaming; yes, homo! He knew _that_ word! "Of _course_ Zim is human! What else would I be?" he laughed, a disparaging hint to his tone; they needn't remind him of how seamlessly he was blending in with their society! His amusement was cut short when he was shoved to the floor again, this time by one of the other humans he'd never bothered to learn the name of.

"A _fairy_, stupid. A _butt pirate_," the jock growled, seeming annoyed by something that Zim couldn't quite grasp.

Not that he didn't try, for the sake of appearing normal. Sadly, his attempt at trying to comprehend the 'insults' consisted of proving said 'insults' wrong. "Zim has no wings, and pirates are terrible!" He received a kick to the side for that comment, and wondered if perhaps he'd been a little insensitive; after all, these particular humans may have descended from pirates.

It would explain why they were so horrible, at least.

The insults that followed made just as little sense, but after the rather painful kick, Zim decided that it would be best if he kept silent and just let them get it out of their systems. It was preferable to Torque attempting to turn him into a living pretzel, after all.

For the next few minutes, Zim sat on the dirty skool floor, a baffled look on his face, as the jocks took turns shouting at him. Each word and phrase brought nothing from his translator that he could find offensive. Fruit? Queer? Bender? _Princess_? What, were they back to the jokes at the expense of his uniform _already_? It didn't look _that_ much like a dress!

The insults took a turn for the strange as it went on, bringing yet more confusion to the poor Irken. 'Back door bandit', 'sausage smuggler', 'cock knocker' (what did _chickens_ have to do with anything?!), 'brownie king'; the list went on and on, and soon Zim found himself having to bite his lip to keep from snickering at some of the odder ones. 'Mattress muncher', indeed.

They wrapped it up when Torque gave an explosive scream of 'fag', and with that, the jocks left Zim on the floor, staring after them in complete and utter bewilderment, not at all insulted and with just a slight stitch in his side from where he'd been kicked. Once they were out of sight, he pushed himself to his feet once more and brushed himself off. There was a clear frown on his face, but he was thankful that he'd been spared the worst.

He was indeed lucky today, he decided; why else would the lummox have gotten such a sudden uncontrollable urge to smoke?

* * *

Oh, Zim, you're so adorably naive.

Something I find amusing, because I have no life: According to some dictionary of homosexual terminology, 'Mary' is apparently a term that can be used to refer to gay men. ...Any guesses as to what GIR called Dib in 'Mopiness of Doom'? XD;


	78. Man

Sorry for the late update. Had some exasperating computer troubles; couldn't get online, couldn't write, nothing. Being without a computer sucks. :(

* * *

**MAN**

Human growth was interesting, in all its different forms. In comparison to Irkens, who had spent millions of years in primitive dwellings beneath the surface of their planet, they developed quickly; incredibly so, really. Their race had only existed for a scant few thousand years, and yet they had so soon begun to venture into outer space, with one select genius among them having already discovered the secret to perpetual energy.

Their society grew quickly, as well; most of the Earth was already covered in their cities, and despite all the differing ideals and cultures, when push came to shove they could work together as a whole. For not being a hive-minded species, it was truly an incredible achievement; even Zim could acknowledge that.

What truly garnered his attention, however, was not how fast the human race had advanced itself, technologically, socially, or otherwise. No, what Zim found to his interest was the growth of the individual human – _one_ individual in particular.

Dib had been nothing more than the Earth equivalent of a smeet when Zim had first arrived, this he knew. Incredibly mature, and _very_ smart for his age (a little _too_ smart, really, annoyingly so), but still just a smeet. He knew, too, that the boy would grow, physically and mentally, just as his peers would. ...As his peers would _physically_, Zim always corrected himself; they would never develop far when it came to brainpower. Mindless sheep, the lot of them.

It was a surprise, really, spending so much time on Earth; the Invader had never thought he'd actually witness his rival growing up. He'd expected to take over easily, expected to defeat the obnoxious child who defied him at every turn.

Things didn't work out the way he'd planned, though.

Through middul skool, he'd cursed Dib for daring to grow taller, had often growled complaints as his nemesis grew stronger, smarter; he'd even snarled in annoyance in the later grades when the teen's voice began to shift in pitch. Hi skool was just as bad. The end of one summer vacation had brought Zim back to a year in which Dib towered above him by an additional two inches, along with the full two feet he already had over the Irken. Frustrating, in all.

He hadn't even been able to make fun of the human for anything, really. His head was now rather normal-sized in proportion to the rest of his body, and he wasn't incredibly hairy as some of his more unfortunate male peers had become. He hadn't even had an excessive amount of trouble with facial blemishes. No, instead, the so-called 'puberty' had been remarkably kind to Dib.

Zim had read somewhere that puberty was the Earth god's way of testing young humans to see if they were worthy of adulthood, and that very few were chosen.

Apparently, Dib was worthy.

* * *

Zim, UrbanDictionary isn't really the best place to get information. Try Wikipedia instead. (HA!)


	79. Earth

Sorry this took so long, guys. Things have been somewhat hectic in the real-life department. Also, I have a job now. Meaning updates will continue to be really slow and sporadic. D:

Warning: Character death

* * *

**EARTH**

"A watchful protector and a doting father, we stand here today to mourn your passing..."

Quite a ways away from the crowd of black-clad humans, Zim stood silently, gloved hands clasped behind his back and contact-covered eyes narrowed as he regarded the scene. He'd long since caught on to the fact that he stood out here during such an occasion, given his vibrantly-colored uniform, but he made it a point to seem like he wasn't a part of what was happening. And...

...he wasn't, really. The alien cared not a whit for the droning of the priest, and he held no interest for the gleaming coffin, nor the empty husk it contained, as it was lowered to fit snugly inside the rectangular hole. He didn't concern himself with the mourners, with their black veils and handkerchiefs, their tears and careless talk. They cried and prayed over the passing of a savior, yet they failed to notice his orphaned children standing not ten feet away, failed to notice the sole reason that had brought Zim to such a dismal place.

So far, no one had approached the two siblings, attempted to comfort them in their grief. Truth be told, though, they were making a splendid show of not caring, and Zim couldn't bring himself to feel surprised. Gaz had always been one to bottle up her emotions, especially those that might make her seem weak, and Dib would never allow himself to crack in the presence of his mortal enemy; he might break down later on, in the privacy of his home, but not there before his father's grave. Not when Zim was so close by.

Regardless of the reasons behind their facades, Zim found he could respect them for displaying such strength, something that was so uncommon amongst their inferior race. It brought him to, however grudgingly, direct a solemn nod towards the two of them.

Only Dib noticed it, which again wasn't much of a surprise; it was the response that threw the Irken off. As Gaz weaved her way through the throng to sprinkle a handful of dirt over her father's coffin, her brother stood silently, his hands in his pockets and his gaze locked with Zim's. The teen watched him long and hard before, finally, he nodded back, his stony expression faltering just enough to let a pained hint through.

Normally, Zim would have jumped on such a small thing, gloated over even a sliver of weakness Dib might let slip; it was a rare thing to come by, and he relished the opportunities when they presented themselves. Now, however, he stayed quiet, respectful, for, in a way, this was a privilege. Even such a minuscule wavering in his unshakable enemy's gaze...he knew it wouldn't happen again, because it hadn't happened on accident. Dib had allowed him to see it, allowed his greatest enemy to see past the layers of dull apathy he had built up to mask the pain of losing a loved one...

...To be sure, that took more strength of character than Zim had ever thought a human to be capable of.

* * *

I purposely avoided writing anything about Earth itself, particularly regarding how Zim's trying to conquer it, because that would have been too obvious. 8D


	80. Boredom

Raise a hand if you'd like to travel through outer space.

* * *

**BOREDOM**

Space travel was a lot of things: dangerous, in many ways, and certainly time-consuming. It was also _not_ a lot of things; for instance, in the wise words of GIR, traveling through space was very different from being a duck.

Dib didn't really care that traversing outer space wasn't akin to being a duck. He didn't even care to ask GIR how he'd come across this little tidbit of knowledge. All he cared about was another thing that space travel was definitely not.

Space travel...was not at all interesting.

Sure, it had started off great. Amazing, in fact! The novelty had worn off somewhere around Jupiter, though, and certainly long before the vessel that carried them had reached the far end of the Kuiper Belt. There just wasn't anything cool to look at after that – nothing but millions of tiny specks of light on an enormous black backdrop. Not that it wasn't pretty or anything; it just got very old very fast.

Dib vaguely wondered how astronauts were able to tolerate it for so long.

Next to him, looking quite peeved indeed at having to resort to yet another truce with his longtime mortal enemy, Zim had taken to glaring out at the surrounding void. Clearly, he shared the human's unspoken views; of course, he'd been privy to the true mindlessness of space travel long before Dib had been able to come to such a conclusion. Long before he'd even been born, really.

When he thought about it like that, for a moment the boy almost felt sorry for his rival. The moment was quick to pass, though, for the Irken decided then to go into hibernation to spare himself the mind-numbing tedium, leaving Dib to spend his time getting more familiar with an insane SIR unit. Unsurprisingly, his attempts at conversation did not go well, and it wasn't long before GIR, too, was put into sleep mode. (Unlike his master, however, the robot was powered down by way of a heavy object to the face.)

And then, just like that, Dib was left to his own thoughts, wedged between the unmoving forms of his greatest enemy and a crazy robot, with absolutely nothing in the ship he could use to occupy himself for the next two weeks.

...This was going to be a looooooong trip.

* * *

I started to raise my hand, but then I realized the same thing Dib just did. I guess I could settle for a little visit to the moon. You know, something that wouldn't call for weeks to years of basically the same scenery.


	81. Sweet

This didn't come out quite the way I'd imagined it, but all things considered, that's probably a good thing. XD

Warning: Blatant ZADR with some references to sex; basically, it's just a step below being smut. (And that's why it's a good thing this prompt didn't come out the way I'd originally meant it to, because then it would've been _outright _smut.)

* * *

**SWEET**

Irkens were not an altogether physical race. Dib had known that going in, knew why Zim frowned whenever he might intertwine their hands, whenever he might nuzzle against smooth green skin. He didn't particularly mind all that much, because he'd managed to define their relationship in a way Zim could understand and appreciate:

They belonged to each other.

If there was one thing Irkens understood, it was possession, for Irkens were _very_ possessive creatures. It was because of this that Zim allowed the touches, allowed Dib to get so close to him – it told everyone else that they'd already claimed each other, so _back off_.

There were many things like this that Dib had come to know about his alien, but every now and then, Zim would surprise him, show him that he still had a lot to learn. In particular, he eventually found himself amending something he'd come to believe as truth; that Irkens were averse to physical contact...

"Do you...ngh...have to do that?" Claws dug into Dib's bare shoulder, bringing him to wince and glance at Zim curiously. The slight pain he'd shown had brought a twisted little grin to the Irken's flushed face, which he easily ignored in favor of trailing his tongue playfully up his lover's neck.

As Zim squirmed, Dib smirked and repeated the gesture for good measure. "What, _this_?" he hummed against the alien's cool skin before nibbling at it, teasingly gentle.

"Yes, _that_," Zim grumbled almost irritably. "Why must you be so _snuggly_? It's so pathetic of you, Dib-creature..." Moments later, he scowled at the man, having had a pleased mewl pulled from his throat against his wishes; Dib was too familiar with his sensitive spots.

"I think you like it," the human whispered against an antennae, causing a shiver to go through its owner's body.

Zim scowled again, though it wasn't quite as disgruntled as before. "I don't," he disagreed, lacking the conviction in his tone that might have persuaded Dib to stop. Rather, it only seemed to encourage him, that accursed mouth – hot, soft, so nice on Zim's skin – closing around the tip of an antennae and scattering the Irken's thoughts. "_Quit it_..." he barely managed to whine around the sensation.

"Can't," Dib chuckled airily, trailing his lips back down to hover over the alien's; he didn't kiss him, though, not yet. "You just taste too good, Zim..." A surge of bravery made him take the Irken's bottom lip into his mouth, suckling it, and it drew forth two conflicting sounds one after the other. The first was a soft little murmur of pleasure, followed swiftly by a warning growl. Zim hated kissing, and this was too close, too affectionate.

That was where the line was drawn. Irkens didn't mind touch, truly, didn't mind engaging in the kinds of things Zim and Dib had taken to doing when they were alone. It was that which brought Dib to amend what he'd thought to be truth. Though certainly not as much as humans, Irkens _were_ a physical race – what they _weren't_ was an _affectionate_ race. He could pin Zim against a wall and drive him to tears of pleasure against it and be met with only token resistance, but gentle words and soft touches would bring nothing but a storm of complaints.

Of course, that wasn't to say that Dib hadn't found ways _around_ that.

Beneath him, Zim frowned uncertainly and licked at his bottom lip, then again, and once more before his claret eyes snapped up to the human. Interest had filled his gaze, brought on by the lingering taste Dib's tongue had left on his skin, and his claws dragged through the man's hair before pulling him back down. Their mouths met again, and this time only the pleased murmurs escaped the Irken.

Had he not been so distracted, Dib might have smirked again, satisfied that his research on Irkens often paid off as well as it did. He'd already known that Zim hated kissing, but now he also knew that with a single chocolate, with one little tidbit of candy melting away in his mouth, that would quickly change...

* * *

Decide for yourself what made them get together for this prompt. Or, if you hate ZADR, just, uh...go ahead and make use of the puke-bucket in the corner. I won't mind.


	82. Smile

Just a quick thing first: a certain reviewer was kind enough (HA!) to remind me to tell you all something: If you want me to not write for a subject, it's pointless to tell me that, because I'll just get annoyed at you and may also be tempted to write even more of whatever you don't want me to write just to be a spiteful bitch (this may be a slight exaggeration, though). In all honesty, I don't take into account what other people want or don't want me to write, _ever_. Not that I would mind if someone asks me to write for a subject or genre and whatnot that I haven't done yet, of course. No, what I _would_ mind is being told that I shouldn't write for something I enjoy, especially when I leave warnings so you can all skip things you might otherwise find distasteful. So just, uh...keep that in mind, I guess. Though, I'm mostly just posting this for preventive measures, really; all the rest of you reviewers have been awesome so far! :)

But, yes, moving on now...

I bet no one ever thought I would combine these two things. BUT I HAVE! _MWAHAHAHA_!

Warning: Zim being a killjoy

* * *

**SMILE**

"You just think lovely, _wonderful_ thoughts..."

In the theatre chair next to Dib, there came a disdainful little snort, repeated louder when the actress onstage lifted up into the air. The sound made it hard to focus on whatever she was exclaiming as she did this, and the teen frowned over at his unwanted companion. "I told you that you wouldn't like this," he muttered, sinking down in his seat somewhat. True, he had only decided to show up for the extra credit himself, but _still_, it wasn't _that_ bad.

"Lovely, _wonderful thoughts_?" Zim echoed flatly, one disguised eye squinted nearly shut and his expression incredulous, then a mix of that and annoyance when another song started up. "That would _hardly_ cancel out the effects of _gravity_. Tch! Stupid humans."

Feeling strangely foolish, Dib sank down just a little bit more, fingers fidgeting on his lap. "Well, they haven't brought up the fairy dust yet, and that's kind of what...well..." he tried lamely to explain, trailing off and flushing when Zim's sharp gaze snapped to him, filled with that same disdain which perfectly matched the sneer on his face. "Okay, okay, it doesn't make sense – it doesn't _have_ to. _Geez_. Can't you just enjoy something for what it is?"

"And just what is _this_?" Zim asked loftily, indicating the unfolding scene on the stage with a jerk of his head. Before Dib could even open his mouth to say anything, though, the Irken was already swiftly interrupting. "This is _garbage_, Dib-thing, _nonsense_. How can an _Earth-smeet_ run away from home?"

Ignoring the annoyed looks directed at them from those seated nearby, the teen threw his hands up in frustration. "I just _told_ you, it doesn't have to make sense! You're not supposed to think about the _how_ or _why_!" He gestured insistently towards the stage with a finger, snapping, "Look – _flying people_. That is _cool_, okay?"

Zim rolled his eyes, just as Dib expected he would. "They're held up by _wires_, stinkmeat."

Dropping his hand back to the armrest limply, Dib stared dully at the disguised Irken before turning back to watch the play, grumbling irritably, "You're just bitter because you don't _have_ any lovely, wonderful thoughts. None that your stupid PAK doesn't make _for _you, anyhow." He ignored the alien's sudden silence that followed his remark, and pretended not to notice when Zim hunched in on himself to stare awkwardly down at the floor. He ignored, too, the guilty feeling that began to build the longer his rival remained that way, and when that failed, he pretended he'd done right in saying what he had.

Why should he feel bad? All he'd done was proclaim what was _truth_.

He wouldn't apologize, Dib decided. Feeling bad about something was one thing, but offering condolences to the enemy was another thing entirely. Better for Zim to be quietly miserable than for him to be in peak mental condition for world conquest, after all. Despite the conclusion he'd come to, though, Dib couldn't help but feel oddly relieved when, later on in the play, the antics of the villain brought a soft, hesitant chuckle from the Irken.

* * *

I distinctly remember getting a little bit of extra credit in some class when I went to one of my school's plays; I'm not sure if that's a widespread thing, though.

My original idea for this prompt was a lot more complicated, and involved the PAK's inner workings when it came to regulating emotions. It wouldn't come out how I wanted it to, though, and was (obviously) taking far too long, so instead you guys get Zim and Dib being vaguely angsty while watching a skool play of Peter Pan. :D


	83. Pray

Attempted to put my own spin on a commonly used plot; I don't think it's _terribly _out of character, but it's probably not one hundred percent in-character, either. I'll let you readers decide that for yourselves, though.

Warnings: Religious themes, possibly OOC

* * *

**PRAY**

He wasn't upset, wasn't depressed. Most importantly, he didn't feel betrayed. Being an Irken, feeling such inferior things wasn't respectable.

Not that he was considered respectable, he knew now.

Zim frowned, staring down at his feet as he shuffled down the sidewalk, which was crusted with the remnants of yesterday's snow. He barely felt the cold, though, and wouldn't have even if his thoughts weren't so muddled, leaving him dazed and out of it. He didn't have any destination, wasn't paying any attention to where he might be going.

He'd never had a destination.

Exiled, banished, a defect without a place to go – he belonged nowhere.

He wasn't upset, wasn't depressed; he just felt lost. There was no one to guide him, no Tallers to instruct him, give him orders... Even his PAK, which normally kept up a mantra in the back of his mind, filled with promises of the greatness that came with loyalty to the Empire, had gone silent.

He didn't feel betrayed; the Tallests had every right to dismiss a soldier who didn't perform up to their standards. Apparently, no matter how often he had proclaimed it to all who could hear, in the end he hadn't been amazing enough.

ZIM hadn't been enough.

That thought made him pause, and his brow furrowed. Insignificance. It wasn't something he was familiar with; before today, he never would have considered the word in relation to himself. Now, it fit like a glove – insignificant, to go along with lost and worthless.

What good was he here on Earth?

Dully, he regarded his surroundings, his musings bringing him to wonder where he was. He didn't recognize the area, but didn't care, either. It was no different from the skool, his base, Irk itself – he didn't belong there. "Are you lost, child?" The words made him jump and turn sharply on his heel, wide-eyed gaze taking in the tall man who had addressed him. He was older, dressed in a simple black robe, and his face appeared worn, though not unkind. Around his neck was a thin silver chain from which dangled a cross, something that Zim had seen from time to time during his stay on the planet.

Recognizing it as a religious symbol, and that the look he was being given was one of concern, yet more things Irkens considered inferior, Zim thought to snap at the man to mind his own business. What had been said, though, threw him off. "Lost?" he echoed quietly, not sure of how else to react to the question. It ran so close to where his thoughts had brought him...

"Yes, son; you look as though you've lost your way," the man replied patiently.

"I know where I am," Zim lied, tone strong as though to challenge the stranger, daring him to disagree.

A knowing smile crossed the human's face, though, his manner remaining pleasant as he asked, "Ah, but is knowing where you are the same as knowing where you'll be going?" The Irken stared up at him, not sure what to make of such a question, until he clarified, "I wasn't suggesting that you don't know this neighborhood. I simply meant that you look as though you're in need of guidance." He gestured behind them then to a modest building, atop which the same cross that decorated the man's chest was proudly displayed.

Zim might have scoffed and shook his head had he been approached yesterday, or any of the days before that. This was sheer madness, he knew, just as all religions were. The universe was a godless place, and if not, then whatever gods that might have been had long since given up on their creations. The stranger was right, though; guidance was exactly what Zim no longer had, and greatly needed. While he wouldn't, of course, offer himself up to some silly Earth god, still he allowed himself to be led towards the chapel.

He didn't want a god – what he wanted was structure.

When he voiced this to the man, he expected to either be ignored or met with hostility, but the reply was a nod of understanding, accompanied by, "It's something we all need in our lives, whether or not we'll admit it. I find my stability, my structure, in the Lord." As he pulled open the door, he smiled down at Zim, kindly and without a hint of disdain, something that the Irken had come to believe no taller being was capable of. "Maybe you'll find it in Him, too, someday. Either way, we'll welcome you here with open arms, for as long as you need a place to go, and someone to listen to your prayers."

"Zim has no prayers." Prayers were nothing but wishes, wishes nothing but hope, and hope was nothing but a waste of time, never amounting to anything more than bitter disappointment. Zim knew this all too well; the only way he'd ever gotten anything he wanted was by struggling, fighting tooth and nail for it, and even then, he'd come up with nothing to show for it. "There's no point to them – they don't fix anything," he grumbled, casting his bland gaze over the interior of the church.

Rows of wooden pews, the center podium, behind which stained glass covered most of the wall, and a few people milling about; two nuns, engaged in quiet conversation, a small choir practicing a soft hymn in the corner, and a family grouped together with their hands clasped before them. It was about what he was expecting to see, and it was almost disappointing. Sighing, he followed the man – a priest, he gathered now – down the middle aisle.

"Maybe, maybe not," the human responded mildly, gesturing for Zim to take a seat. "But it doesn't hurt to try. If you put effort into something, then perhaps one day your prayers will be answered." He smiled again, that same kind smile that the Irken wouldn't have believed existed before then. "Until then, though, I'm here if you need someone to talk to."

Zim shook his head, waving a dismissive hand. "Zim requires no talking. I will be fine without your assistance." He meant it to sound harsher than it came out, though he was somewhat glad of the almost weary result. The priest had been more pleasant and accepting of him than anyone had been in a long while, and though he wouldn't go so far as to say that he _liked _the man, he didn't particularly find his presence an unwelcome one either.

"Very well then, Zim," came the calm response. "But, if you change your mind, know that there's always someone here to listen." With that, a gentle pat to the shoulder, and one last smile, the man turned away, leaving him to his thoughts once more.

He felt oddly more at ease now, he found. Though the others sharing this quiet space with him weren't Irken, and were unknown to him, it was strangely comforting to know that they, too, were seeking structure. In some way, they were lost, just like him.

He wasn't upset – wasn't depressed – didn't feel betrayed. Still, though, Zim glanced back at the family, with their hands clasped together, heads bowed and eyes closed, and mimicked the posture. Then, feeling just a tad bit silly, he whispered under his breath, "If you're really there, God-being, please blow up the Tallests – they deserve it for being such huge jerks. Amen."

* * *

This has been 'Attempting to Write Zim Being Vaguely Serious' with Krys, costarring a surprise cameo of 'And Religion Was There Too, I Guess'. Stay tuned for the next prompt, which will also have a religious theme because it's titled 'God', and what the hell else would I write for with something like that?

It's strange, but whenever I think of a Christian priest, I get the image of a tall man who is very kind and constantly speaks in a way that makes him seem very wise. This is probably because I have little experience with them, being agnostic, and the only priest I've ever spoken to was exactly like that. xD;


	84. God

I lied in the last prompt. This one isn't really all that religiously themed. Sorry, guys. :D

Props go to Madame Mizu for inspiring part of the concept for this; I was otherwise stuck on how to go about writing it.

Warnings: Very slight possible mindfuck maybe, and a tidbit about crazy cultist people

* * *

**GOD**

If there was one thing Dib was, it was an optimist. Despite having the odds stacked up against him, no matter what, he would continue to hope and dream and wish and never give up on something even if he knew that failure was an absolute certainty. He persisted in his optimism solely because he believed, with all his heart and soul, that even though he often tended to be unlucky in his day to day life, in the long term, he would succeed. He would be great - no, even _better _than great! - and he didn't need to simply hope for such a thing to happen, for he knew that it just _would_.

He continued to hope, of course, for that was what made him who he was. Hope, dreams, wishes; they were a driving force behind all the things he did. He hoped to enlighten and protect the people of his planet - he dreamed that they would praise him for his deeds and hail him as a savior - he wished that he had the power to bring his hopes and dreams into reality.

And on one night, a night that had seemed like any other, he was given that power.

Everything was within his reach once the Meekrob arrived, bestowing on him just what he had always wished for. He hadn't been surprised to learn of what he could do with the energy that had coursed through him from that day forth, hadn't been surprised that he was deemed worthiest for such abilities. He'd long since known that, and had always believed that if it would happen to anyone, it would happen to him. It was akin to karma, he figured; to make up for all the bad that had happened, there had to be one incredible moment of pure good that would overshadow everything else and make it all worthwhile.

With his wish granted, he was able to accomplish what he had always hoped – he exposed Zim for what he was, protecting his people from the threat of invasion, and enlightening them as to what lay beyond the stars. With his hopes answered, he got what he had always dreamed of – the public adored him and cherished his image, hanging on to his every word and believing it with every fiber of their beings.

It was nothing like what he'd thought it would be.

At first, he had enjoyed the attention, was glad to have people listen and not mock him for what he thought. He soon realized just what a mistake he'd made, though; he had gravely overestimated his fellow humans, who no longer saw him as one of them. They didn't listen to him, didn't adore him, because they cared. They listened and adored because he was _above them_. He was seen as something more, and made into something he didn't want to be.

_The Superman exists._

They called him that on the news and on talk shows for a while, gushing over what he could do, making it seem as though he was some sort of comic book hero. When the extent of his abilities were discovered in the fight against the Irken Armada, people took it even further, seeing it as something of biblical proportions. Dib was barely able to go out in public after that, swarmed by screaming crowds. They would beg him to even touch them, to give them his blessings, and he knew from then on that people would die for him if he so much as asked them to.

To know that he held such power...

That scared him.

He began to hope for peace, wanting to get away from their madness, and badly wished that the Meekrob had never come to him with what was now a curse. He dreamed of the simplicity that was his childhood, the hunts for Bigfoot and nosferatu, the scuffles with Zim, when he was only thought of as a mere boy – nothing special.

Oh, how he longed to be nothing special again!

He would put on a smile for the public, and show off his skills when they wanted it, but the enjoyment he had gleaned from it at the start was long gone. He kept up the charade only because the PR office insisted, loving that it kept money flowing in.

Dib could care less about the money, could care less what the public thought of him now; he knew they would either adore him as a savior, or fear him for what he could do to them. And, as he could never bring himself to harm those he had worked so hard to protect, all that was left was to suffer under the weight of their mindless worship, for he knew they would never let him fade into obscurity.

On and on, it dragged – decades passed, filled with bitter disappointment for what could have been. Had he never been cursed with his powers, he might have been only a celebrity, the boy who captured an alien invader. Instead, he was revered as a deity come to walk amongst mortals, doomed to either shallow relationships or utter loneliness, forced to forever fake his smiles and laughter.

When at last he felt his life nearing its end, he agreed to one last interview. He didn't want to go, but again he was bullied into compliance by the PR office, told what to say and how to say it. That they dared to demand anything of him amazed him, but by now he was too bitter and jaded to care. He would put on his false smile, force out a laugh or two, and then hole himself away to die in what would hopefully be peace.

He barely listened to the talk show host, knowing that all that was expected of him was to lay out every detail of his life. He made it sound perfect, spiced it up even if it wasn't necessary, and all the while hoped for his saving grace.

_Please, please, __please_– _don't let this be it._

Relief of a magnitude he'd never before experienced flooded through him when suddenly everything changed. A simple question he hadn't been expecting, the answer inexplicably bringing Zim's triumphant face to appear, and mocking laughter that he hadn't heard directed at him in so long...

The universe he hadn't wanted dissolved around him.

He was at first bewildered to find himself surrounded by blinding white, until it slowly resolved itself into shapes that managed to be familiar despite the lack of color; he was somewhere deep within Zim's base. More relief, but confusion lingered; what had happened? There weren't shoe aliens?

He was only mildly disappointed to learn that it had all been a lie, more upset that he'd had to put up with all the trouble for nothing. And though he was annoyed at Zim, whose derisive cackles continued even as Dib was tossed from the base, he couldn't help but smile when he was able to walk down the street without receiving so much as a second glance.

He was young again, free to do as he pleased, free to hope, and dream, and wish. He would hope, as always, to enlighten and protect his race – he would dream that they would praise him for his deeds and deem him not a savior, but a modest hero doing what had to be done – and he would wish that he could find the strength within himself to bring his hopes and dreams into reality.

He didn't have any doubts that it would happen, not if he kept on believing, if he kept on hoping and dreaming and wishing as he always did. It would all work out how he wanted it to in the end.

He just had to give it a little time.

* * *

There's a song I could joke about being the theme for this prompt, but that would make the prompt's insinuations more obvious than they already are, and also be way too obvious of a joke, so I'm not going to say what it is. (Boy, talk about a useless statement.)

Meanwhile, I apparently really like writing things that revolve around 'Dib's Wonderful Life of Doom'.


	85. Love

Doing something different from everything I've seen so far; might've been done already, or not. I don't know. Either way, it ended up longer than I'd intended. But that happens a lot with my writing, anyway. Big surprise.

Warnings: One-sided ZADR, probably quite non-canon in regards to Irken society, usage of an extremely minor character

* * *

**LOVE**

When he first felt the telltale signs, Dib at first thought Zim had given him some sort of disease. That the Irken had gone so out of his way to keep the human from interfering that he'd created some parasite to burrow into the teen's insides, making him feel flushed and awkward with his stomach a mess of fluttering jitters whenever they might interact.

Of course, when the alien vehemently denied meddling with his organs, deeming the idea clever but repetitive and 'not worthy of Zim's time' (mostly because _he_ hadn't been the one to think of it), that was when Dib _really_ started to get worried.

He found himself looking forward more to seeing the Invader than stopping his plans. That was not good.

He had started to view Zim and his quirks as, honestly, rather adorable. That, too, was not good.

He came to the conclusion that he had a crush on Zim. That was the worst thing of all.

He _couldn't_ have a crush on Zim – it was insane, it was mindbogglingly stupid, there were all _sorts_ of reasons why it would all end in pain! He already had enough problems to deal with just trying to expose the alien to the world, and now he had to _add_ to it by _falling for his enemy_? Was he really _that_ much of a glutton for humiliation?

In the end, Dib came to a firm decision: he needed a good and strong dose of cold reality. Something to blast this infatuation right back into the pits of Hell, from which it had certainly originated.

He would tell Zim his feelings.

Standing outside the base, Dib almost turned and fled, sure that he knew just what was to come and wanting to protect at least a sliver of his dignity. He forced himself to stay, though, wanting to stop this emotional nonsense once and for all and knowing that approaching the Irken would be the best way to go about it. Steeling himself and taking a deep breath, he raised his hand and knocked on the door.

It swung open almost immediately, Zim standing before him with narrowed contact-covered eyes, as though he'd known Dib was outside and had been waiting for him to dare to knock. The picture of cute, Dib thought briefly before he shook his head roughly and shoved the thought away. "Hey, Zim," he offered casually, trying not to betray his discomfort.

"What do _you_ want, Earth-stink?" Zim spat, body arched slightly and bristling like an angry cat.

"Uh, nothing, I just...um..." Dib looked away then, finding it easier to speak when the Irken's intense gaze wasn't the only thing he could see. It was almost flattering, that he was the only one Zim would look at in such a way. He forced himself to ignore that thought, too.

That particular goal was helped along when the Irken attempted to slam the door in his face. "If you have nothing to say to ZIM, then _leave_!" Zim demanded irritably just as he went to slam the door shut, snarling when the teen caught it with his hand, forcing it back open.

"Wait!" Dib protested. "I had something to say, just- _man_, could you be a _little_ more patient?"

Zim regarded him then in the way that people often regarded a dog after it had shat on the carpet, and that look remained on his face as he grated out, "_Fine_, but be quick! You're wasting my incredible ZIM-time. Now, what – do – you – _want_?"

So much for patience, Dib thought but didn't say, as he wasn't much worried about Zim being impatient as always (which disturbed him, for he had recently also come to find the impatience endearing). What _really_ worried him was that the Irken might just outright attack him for daring to harbor something so primitive as a _crush_ towards him. Well, whatever happened, now was the moment of truth, the moment whatever flimsy reasonings that had brought about his attraction would be beaten and jeered into dust.

A pause, as if for effect, as if this whole ordeal was nothing but a product of Hollywood minds. Then-

"I like you."

The silence that followed was expected, and Dib brought his focus back on the Invader to gauge his expression, which he expected to be one of anger and disgust. He was surprised to see a blank visage, Zim just staring at him as though they'd never met before. More silence, before he carefully repeated himself, just in case it hadn't fully sunk in. "I _like_ you, Zim."

One contact-covered eye squinted slightly, and the Irken glanced around, as though expecting everyone they knew to jump out and yell 'SURPRISE!' as part of some grand prank, which Dib was certain he thought this to be. Eventually, his gaze returned to the human, but all he did was shrug before he finally scoffed, "Who _wouldn't_ like Zim?"

Was he really _that_ naive? At first, Dib had to push back the urge to gather the Irken up into his arms and squeeze him, and once that was taken care of, he had to push back the urge to groan in exasperation. "That's _not_ what I- ugh. What I'm _trying_ to say is...nrgh..." He pushed up his glasses a bit to pinch the bridge of his nose, and took another deep breath to calm his nerves, before he dropped his hand back down to his side and stated flatly, "I think I have a crush on you."

More silence, more blank staring. Zim just wasn't getting it, so Dib threw caution to the winds and awkwardly leaned forward to plant a sloppy kiss on the Irken's cheek. That drove the point home, and suddenly Zim was backing up, hands held up in front of him protectively in case the teen tried anything else. "Although I _appreciate_ your good taste in wishing to have the amazing ZIM as your forever-mate, I respectfully _decline_, so take your affections _elsewhere_," the Invader stated quickly, tone strained and eyes wide.

Appreciate? Respectfully? Dib squinted at the wording, and regarded Zim uncertainly. The actual rejection aside, he was definitely being a lot nicer about this than the human had expected he'd be. He hadn't even laughed at his 'primitive emotions' or anything else along those lines... "Um...a-are you sure?" he asked lamely, feeling his face light up as though it was on fire; what a juvenile thing to ask.

"Of course I'm _sure_! Do not bother me again with this nonsense! Even if Zim cared to return your _'crush'_, as you call it, it would be impossible!" Zim snapped, looking more annoyed than scandalized now, though he still kept his hands up to protect himself from any further shows of affection.

"Well, yeah, I guess," Dib mumbled. "You're Irken, I'm not, we're supposed to be enemies... Obviously it wouldn't work out..."

Zim suddenly looked just as awkward as Dib felt, averting his gaze and shifting his weight uncomfortably. "Ehn...that is...not exactly what Zim was referring to." As though knowing the teen was looking at him inquisitively, the Irken sighed and reached into a hidden pocket, drawing from it a small compact. He then whipped it forward, nearly smacking Dib in the chest with it. "Don't drop it, or I'll liquefy your organs," he warned as he shoved it into the human's hands.

Staring at the object in bafflement for just a moment, Dib turned it over a few times before he spotted a small latch, and he flipped the compact open. What he saw within was akin to a cold splash of water, a better dose of reality than a simple rejection could have ever been.

Pictures. A small green-eyed Irken, antennae curled snug – four others, even smaller, one with the larger Irken's eyes, three with a familiar vibrant red – Zim, amongst them and looking happier than Dib had ever seen him, all smiles and laughter.

"You...have a family," he stated quietly, staring down at the compact he held and not knowing what to think. Zim, the alien he'd been trying to put on an autopsy table for years, had a _family_; the alien he'd eventually come to harbor feelings for...was already... Dib pointed to the green-eyed female, not wanting to know, but at the same time needing to. "Is she...?"

Zim peered down at the picture, and a hint of a smile crossed his face. "Ah, Yuli? Is she..._what_, Dib-human?"

"Your, um...forever...thing." He offered the compact back to the Irken, who took it, squinting up at him as he did. The disappointment was perfectly clear in Dib's expression, but the reason he was asking was equally clear, even to the normally thick-headed Irken. He'd wanted to get over his crush from the start, and had gone about the quickest way to do that: the unavoidable reaction and rejection from the Invader himself.

Well, in the interest of keeping things simple, _Zim_ would oblige. "Zim's forever-mate? Yes. Yes, she is," he stated simply, taking pride in both that and the slight wince from the boy. "Just like you, little Dib-thing, she was unable to resist the charms of ZIM. But, ya know, who could?" He smiled and shrugged, looking for all the world like he was _trying_ to be modest about it, yet was still very much aware that he was failing miserably.

"And the other four...?"

"Ah, our litter!" Zim confirmed, and his smile suddenly seemed brighter, more genuine rather than mildly smug. The pride was still there, though it was a different kind than the one Dib was used to from him, leaving a mild ache in his chest; it was the pride a father _should_ have for his children. "They were just joining the Academy when Zim was sent here; they're going to be Invaders, just like their _amazing_ progenitors!"

A family of Invaders. Dib let out a little chuckle, and suddenly felt a lot less bad about trying to expose Zim, now well reminded of the dangers that the Earth – and the rest of the universe – faced. There was still disappointment from the turn of events, and he would probably be sulking about it for a while, but that was okay. He'd get over it.

Zim blinked and quirked his head when the human held out a hand to him. "Ehn? What _now_?" he inquired, suspicious.

"It's just...well...you've helped to remind me what's most important, so...thank you," Dib stated as pleasantly as he could, keeping his hand outstretched. The Irken only eyed it skeptically, so he clarified, "You'll keep fighting me, for your Empire and your family – and I'll keep fighting you, too. For the Earth...and for _my _family."

A little smirk crossed Zim's face. "And your _crush_? What of that? Surely you haven't run out of affections for Zim _that_ quickly," he teased.

"No idea what you're talking about, Zim," Dib replied mildly.

A curt nod. "Good."

They shook hands, and that was that.

* * *

Zim might be a failure, but I still think it's a little weird that he always tends to start out single in fanfics before he's paired with someone (usually Dib).

Fun fact: Yuli is an actual character, and one of the Invaders for Operation Impending Doom 2. (No details were ever given for the character, though, not even the gender or appearance, so I took some creative liberties. :D)


	86. Hold

Well, this didn't come out exactly how I'd imagined it, but it's still pretty close. So, I'm happy with it. Also, finally made use of a certain character. ;)

* * *

**HOLD**

They're both losing, Dib knows – he can admit it to himself, for he knows that Zim won't. Even as they dash headlong through winding halls, making progress with every step, they might as well be taking leaps and bounds back the way they came. It's often like this when they're fighting each other, where they both still fail in some way, but now, with their differences set aside, a new kind of failure is rearing its head.

This battle is not between the two of them. They share a common enemy here, in these twisting and turning tunnels, and it's imperative that they give their all in this fight.

They're still losing.

She's too clever, too cunning to let them defeat her as easily as they had the first time they'd come to blows. Traps and dead-ends are what meet them now, making them frustrated and weary, to where it is all the two grudging allies can do to keep pushing themselves onward. She knows that on their own, they will never give up, and knows too that together, they can accomplish almost anything.

But she also knows that though they _can_ accomplish almost anything, they _won't_ – Zim and Dib are too often at odds to work well together for long.

They've been trapped in each other's company for hours now.

Encouraging words beyond 'We can do this' aren't spoken, and never will be, for though they need each other if they want to have any hope of victory, both secretly long for their rival to fall here. In their minds, it would be the ultimate achievement, to best their nemesis and go on to defeat the returning threat to the planet. It is hopelessly optimistic, and still, though the wish remains at the back of his thoughts, only Dib will admit that to himself.

It doesn't prepare him for when Zim _does_ fall.

He grabs for his rival almost instinctively, terror consuming his mind; he cannot face Tak on his own. Zim's weight, though meager, isn't expected and drags him down to his knees, and suddenly he is in just as much danger of toppling into the black depths of the pit. Harsh triumphant cackling erupts from somewhere above them, ahead of them, wrapping around the two like a suffocating blanket, and Dib is hard-pressed to simply ignore it.

He's losing his focus, too much going on around him and driving him to distraction. Zim's claws are digging into his arm, desperately trying to find purchase when ruined spiderlegs cannot – the maw of the pit seems to swell, threatening to swallow the both of them whole – alarms blare in the distance, constant testament to their unwelcome presence – and now, there is the mocking laughter of the one they'd sworn to defeat shrieking everywhere about them.

What truly keeps Dib from pulling himself together, pulling Zim back up, though, is the worst thing of all; inner conflict.

He can end the threat that is Zim, right here, right now. All he has to do is let go. But he hears Tak all around, a black widow against the common house spider that is Zim; she lies patiently waiting for the flies in her web, ready to brutally snuff them out and move on to cocoon the Earth in her deadly threads.

Right here, and right now, she is the true threat.

And one fly is nothing against her.

Dib wants more than anything at this moment of realization to scream his frustration to the world, with one enemy caught in his grasp and another looming in the distance. To end one means the other will run free, and he is well aware what disaster such could spell for his beloved home. The only thing that calms his frenzied mind, lets him compose himself and make the necessary choice, is a simple fact.

He knows that there exists a lesser evil between the two.

He grits his teeth, and pulls Zim back up.

* * *

I like Tak; really, I do. I just can never seem to think of stories that would involve her in any way. It's strange.

Oh, I also like comparing Irkens to spiders, even though the only thing they have in common with spiders are the look of their PAK legs, which aren't even natural attachments. But I guess comparing an Irken to some other kind of insect (like, let's say...a grasshopper) just wouldn't be as cool.


	87. Hug

This one kind of depresses me, but it's probably just because I'm sappy and pathetic.

Notes: Derived from the 'Return of Keef' script. Could be viewed as one-sided not-exactly-ZADR, though it isn't expressly intended.

* * *

**HUG**

Warm and soft. It wasn't anything like whatever Zim had been expecting, having Dib's arms around him, and he wasn't sure how to feel about that. Warm and soft was nice, and nice was certainly not a concept normally brought to his mind when it came to his nemesis. In fact, _nice_ wasn't a concept that normally came to his mind at all.

He felt a little upset about the unexpected turn of events, really. They'd agreed to this, this utter nonsense that might be called a truce, only because of the irritation that was Keef's existence. Zim had been fully aware he would have to play buddy-buddy with his worst enemy, and had prepared himself well enough as could be expected for that.

He never thought he would have had to go so far, though, never knew he would have to prepare himself for _this_.

The Dib's body gave off an oddly comforting heat, and it took all of Zim's willpower to not lean into it, to instead focus on the gleefully quivering red-haired boy nearby. It shocked and disturbed him how difficult that was, how intensely tempting it was to simply enjoy the warmth of the other, to squeeze against his chest and hope for it to never end.

It wasn't that he liked Dib at that moment, Zim assured himself, though he could admit that _something_ had changed. There was something _good_ in his nemesis now, because that warmth, and that softness, and how nice it was...he couldn't recall experiencing anything like that ever before. It made it seem as though nothing could harm him, not as long as he was tucked up close to the other, and he unconsciously tightened his grip on the boy when his thoughts brought an odd pain to strike deep within him.

He had never felt this way, and he knew that as soon as it was over, he never would again. Life in the Irken Empire was hard and cold, in all ways opposite from this simple gesture, this simple show of what would have been affection had it been between two completely different people.

Zim didn't care about affection. He didn't care that not moments after Dib's arms went around him, Keef let out a final squeal of joy and violently popped. He didn't care about anything, aside from the pressing desire to remain in the soft warmth, the precious niceness, that he'd never known before. He wanted time to stop, to let him stay where he was, so he could keep that feeling forever.

He was angry when it ended, when Dib tensed up and shoved at him, and so Zim shoved back just as hard, forcing himself to appear disgusted, and then pretending that nothing had changed. He didn't want the boy to know how much he wished to curl up in that embrace once more, to have and hold the one feeling that being an Irken had so far forbade him.

Zim didn't like Dib, didn't love him or care about him. He didn't know how Dib had managed to make him feel anything good at all, or even what the name of that good feeling was. All he knew was that he wanted the warmth, the softness, that immeasurably nice something, and he wanted it for just one reason. Though he didn't fully understand it, and probably never would, it told him something that nothing in his life had ever told him before.

You don't have to fight...you're going to be okay.

_You're safe now._

_

* * *

_

I think you should give Zim some more hugs, Dib. You _both_ kind of need them. :(


	88. Wings

Not sure how this resulted from the idea I'd initially had, but I guess it works well enough.

* * *

**WINGS**

By no means was Zim an emotional person; at least, that was what he liked to think of himself. Certainly, he was passionate in his anger, a good quality for any Irken to have, but little could be said when it came to things like happiness and sadness, for he kept such things more or less to himself.

Happiness was something easier to keep quiet, or at least controlled. Of course, Zim would always allow for a wicked giggle when things went the way he'd intended, but simple pleasures were a different matter, and he wasn't altogether a very happy person to begin with. _Positive_, certainly, with an odd amount of optimism for how much trouble he got into, but not particularly happy.

Sadness was different, harder to cope with. It could creep up on him when he least expected it, crop up when someone unknowingly touched upon a sensitive issue, niggle at him after the occasional failure. To his credit, Zim never let it affect him for long, his blindingly positive personality outshining any negativity that might ensnare him.

And when that didn't work, he would force upon himself a completely logical reason to just _get over it already_.

He'd discovered the perfect spot to do this, not long after he had landed on Earth. It was a tall, remote cliff overlooking the vast ocean, with the sea breeze swirling about it almost constantly. Calm and quiet, with no one around to pass judgments or offer unsolicited advice. It was a good place to stand and think, Zim would always decide, and so, after a particularly miserable week, he found himself standing there once again.

For a long while he was lost in his thoughts there, closer to the edge than he had ever dared before as he stared out silently over the waves. The wind whirled about him, making him feel smaller, lighter, as it buffeted his frame, and for a brief instant he felt envious of the seagulls that would glide in lazy circles about him. How much hardship would such creatures have to endure? Their lives were so simple, so unfettered by difficult emotions.

But, Zim reminded himself, they could never accomplish anything of worth – not like he could. That was a good enough reason to get over what he was feeling, he thought, a reason to dig his heels into the sturdy ground and hold himself firm against the wind, so that it could not drive him over the edge and into the boiling sea below. He was not like the seagulls; he was Zim, and he was superior.

He was not wasting his life, and was never going to. His life was too precious to waste. He had come to such a reason before, he remembered suddenly, so truly it must be a good one.

Now that he'd found his reason, he let only the light veil of sadness float away on the wind to sink forgotten beneath the waves, and soon after its cold weight was lifted and gone, he discovered that the gulls hadn't been his only companions. A gaze filled with confusion, and some odd sort of expectancy, met him when he finally turned around, making him glad that his business on the cliff was already concluded.

"Were you going to jump, Zim?"

Zim let himself laugh at that, let the solemn look that rarely crossed his face slip away to be replaced with the picture of self-assurance. "Don't be ridiculous, Dib-worm," he drawled when his derisive chuckles came to an end. "I'm not a seagull." He relished the baffled look that crossed his enemy's face then, smirking smugly at the boy who had so often unwittingly driven him here, and asked him mildly, "Are you?"

He took his leave before the question was ever understood or even answered, giggling meanly as he went. Zim didn't care what Dib's answer might have been, because it wouldn't have made any difference, anyway.

He'd already found his reason.

* * *

Fics that feature Zim committing suicide are kind of bizarre to me; depression (and especially moping) is one thing when it comes to him, but I just can't see him giving up _that_ completely. He's too stubborn and self-assured. Even in 'The Trial', when he was going to be deactivated and was under the (correct) impression that everyone hated him, he was still very much clinging to life.


	89. Wrong

It's been a while since I've written some good wholesome enmity, though. Kind of missed it.

In response to a review, I'm not sure how the last prompt was at all vague. I was careful to give Zim's reason(s), as well as show why Dib didn't answer his rather vague question, which could have meant one or both of two things. Either way, the answer would have been 'no'; given Dib's personality, and the fact that he is clearly not a seagull, that should have been apparent. But, hey, maybe I just suck at writing and getting my point across.

But anyway, on to more of my suckish writing and point-getting-acrossings! (Shut up, spell check, 'acrossings' is totally a real word, and 'suckish' is, too. You just don't know what you're talking about.)

* * *

**WRONG**

"_Hurry_. There isn't much time left." Zim was glaring at him, one clawed hand tightly clenched around the tool vital to his current task. Only rolling his eyes in response at first, Dib dragged a container of spare parts over to the Irken, purposefully dropping it as close to the unoccupied hand as he could without actually causing any harm.

The resulting hiss of displeasure had him smirking, but that was the only acknowledgment he gave the sound. "We've still got an hour, Spaceboy, I think we can manage," he stated casually, shrugging one shoulder as he began to sift through the bits of metal and circuitry. "Especially if you're as ingenious as you _think _you are."

The jibe had Zim scowling, grating out, "Enough! Zim does not wish to hear any more words from your ugly mouth!" He jabbed the tool in Dib's direction, his frustration suggesting he wished to go further than the small annoyed gesture by jamming the object directly into the human himself. He held the urge back admirably, though, and only proclaimed haughtily, "My plans are _amazing_, and you should be _grateful_ that I would ally myself with such an inferior stink as yourself!"

"Oh, _yeah_, because you're a big help to me and everything," Dib retorted sarcastically, flicking a tiny piece of scrap metal at Zim's forehead. It bounced off with a satisfying pinging sound, and the boy might have laughed if the Irken hadn't promptly started screeching at him.

"Desist, _immediately_! If you think that ZIM will stand for any more of this behavior from you, you will be _sorely_ disappointed, Dib-worm!" The tool in Zim's hand was hurled onto the tabletop violently, clattering away, and then the Invader stormed forth to roughly shove Dib, before angrily stabbing a claw against his chest repeatedly as he went off on a rant. "ZIM does not have to do this, you evil, _evil_ child! I could just as easily sit back and let your world be eliminated _for_ me, and claim the spoils as my own later! You're simply _lucky_ that I find such a tactic _below_ my incredible self! So do not – do _not_! – act as though this _idiotic _truce is something you can just take advantage of whenever you want! I've had _quite _enough of that from you before, and I do _not_ want to deal with it now!"

An exasperated snort escaped Dib. "Pfft, 'below you'_? Please_, Zim, I know that you just want all the credit for yourself."

"That is _not_ the point!" Zim snapped, jabbing his finger into the boy's chest one last time for added measure. "Zim's point is that _you_ are never of any help! Your behavior is _disgusting_ and _dishonorable_, and I will not _stand_ for it any longer!"

"How am I _dishonorable_?" Dib exclaimed in disbelief, annoyed that the Irken was being so dramatic all of a sudden, and spouting nonsense to boot. Dishonorable? _That_ was a new one.

"Like you don't _know_," Zim growled at him, turning away and snatching up the previously abandoned tool. "How many times has Zim agreed to a truce, only to have you _purposefully_- ...Argh! Just _forget it! _We don't have time for this! Just know that if you _dare_ step out of line, I will _destroy_ you!"

Dib's attempt at a retort was waved off impatiently, the accompanying glare bringing the boy to heave a grating sigh of exasperation and slump against the wall, silently stewing in his annoyance. He scowled at Zim now and then, but it went otherwise unnoticed, so he took to wondering just what the Irken had even meant. Whatever the point was, it made as little sense as _most_ of what he ranted about.

_'How many times has Zim agreed to a truce, only to have you __purposefully__...'_

Purposefully _what_?

It took a while of puzzling over the words before Dib finally got it, remembering the times they'd gone to the other asking assistance, or had to work together for mutual benefit.

What had he done when Zim showed up on his doorstep, declaring the Earth in danger from another enemy and asking only to use his telescope? Why, he'd chased him out of the house, of course, only to find out later that he'd been telling the truth.

What had he done the next time Zim came to him, afflicted with the same terrible meat fate he'd intended for Dib, offering to help find the cure? Why, he'd allowed it, certainly, but as soon as he thought the cure finished, he'd snatched it away for himself, and blamed the Irken when it failed.

What had he done on Halloween, when he had gone to Zim for help that only he would benefit from, only to drag him into the world of his imagination with no hope of return? Why, he'd tricked the monsters that hunted him into taking his nemesis away, the thought of rescuing him afterward never once crossing his mind. In his own words, he had left Zim to rot.

The more Dib thought about it, the more he realized that Zim was _right_. He couldn't recall a single instance in which they had allied where Zim had _intentionally_ betrayed him, and the times that he _had_ were always brought on by Dib turning against him _first_, when they could hardly even be considered _allied_ anymore. It was a realization that brought a nasty taste to the back of the boy's mouth, to know that the rant he'd been subjected to made sense, and was perfectly justified.

His behavior was, as Zim had described, disgusting.

He was, truly, dishonorable.

Humility seeping in, Dib stared up at his nemesis turned grudging ally, and for the first time, actually considered the truce they'd agreed upon. The Irken had come to _him_ for his assistance, demanding he help to save the planet, which was certainly a benefit for Dib. What he couldn't figure was the benefit for _Zim_.

What, really, did he have to gain from this?

Just as he'd proclaimed, Zim could allow the approaching enemy to raze the Earth, and claim it as his own success later. It would call for little to no effort on his part, yet instead, here he was, standing across from Dib as he pieced together something to _protect_ the planet he so hated. And it was simply because he wanted the credit he received to be genuinely deserved.

It was, aside from what he'd be getting credit for, a respectable enough motive. But, even though Dib knew his enemy – possessive and proud to a fault – thought it so, it wasn't much of a benefit.

Especially when he had to work with someone he couldn't trust.

Biting his lip and averting his gaze, Dib debated with himself for a long while. He was just protecting his planet, he thought, and Zim was a threat! But...if the alien was trying to _help_, even if it was just because he was selfish and proud, shouldn't Dib respect that? Shouldn't he set aside the differences until they no longer needed each other, and really _work_ with Zim for once? They worked well together, he knew, when they weren't squabbling and trying to destroy one another...

A long sigh escaped him again, this time sounding weary instead of annoyed, and the Irken across from him perked an antennae, frowning up at him. "Are you just going to _stand there_? I'm not paying you to do _nothing_!" Zim snapped.

"You're not p-" Dib stopped himself, and just gave a quiet irritated groan, edging up close to the table once more. "Whatever. What do you need me to do?" Zim eyed him suspiciously for a moment before shoving forward the tool he'd thrown down earlier, a variety of scrap tech being tossed after it.

"See if you can make anything _useful_ – however amazing Zim is, running in with only one weapon is still _stupid_." He didn't say anything more, only watching Dib warily, and once the boy nodded his assent, he simply nodded back, satisfied, and resumed his work. And when the human began his own project, he offered not a single negativity or distraction.

Perhaps, Dib thought, Zim took their alliances seriously. Perhaps, even, Zim had a measure of honor to him that Dib had never bothered to notice before.

So perhaps, just _maybe_, Dib might let himself respect that.

* * *

Why, yes, I _did_ study all the times they allied to write this prompt, thank you for asking. And, yes, Dib really _is _always the first one to backstab, no matter how minor said backstabbing is. It might be justified, considering that Zim's trying to destroy the planet and all, but still, it's just a little bit messed up. (Also, perhaps Dib's not as perfect for being a paladin as I thought he was in prompt 42. XD)


	90. Right

Immediate follow-up of the previous prompt. Because how could I let it go at that?

Warning: Some violence

* * *

**RIGHT**

Everything had gone just as they'd planned, without a hitch to speak of, which was a miracle in and of itself. It hadn't even been that much of a plan, really. Storm in with guns a-blazing (simple enough), take down anything that moves (check), and cripple the enemy's mothership (done and done). It was coherent and basic, even if it wasn't foolproof, but all that really mattered was that it was over and finished and they were ready to move on to the final stage.

Getting out alive.

It wasn't going to be as easy as Zim kept suggesting. After all, crippling the alien vessel hadn't been as easy a task as Zim had suggested it would be, either; it had required sneaking aboard and making their way to the power core. Then came the part of actually _disabling _the power core, which _also_ wasn't as easy a task as Zim had suggested. It was an incredible stroke of luck that they'd so effortlessly dealt with what resistance had met them, especially having only the makeshift weapons they'd so quickly pieced together not an hour earlier. Even more especially because, despite all of the assurances otherwise, Zim hadn't had a _clue_ as to what they might find themselves up against.

It was frustrating, overall. It didn't matter to Dib that they'd managed it, pulled it off so flawlessly, not when his aggravation towards his rival had reached its peak and then some. He could barely even focus on the fact that his beloved planet would survive for another day.

All he saw was the sterile hallway surrounding them as they ran, and the glaring light of Sol on the viewscreens as the warship was dragged ever closer to the star, tangled in the embrace of its irresistible gravity. And all he felt, aside from his frustration and rising panic, was the heat of his sun as it beat its way past the ship's metal hull and wormed its way through its metal hallways.

The vessel was quickly becoming an oven, and if they didn't escape soon, they would be _cooked alive_.

Of course, aggravation and frustration with Zim was going to reach a boiling point as soon as this newest deathtrap would, especially if the Irken kept on making light of the situation with what _might_ have been attempts at humor. Dib was already getting plenty of _actual_ light from the viewscreens, picturing Sol drawing nearer and ever nearer, and he didn't need any _metaphorical_ light heaped on top of that.

To be sure, he was sick of Zim looking at the screens, chuckling, and bringing up how he'd launched a chicken there once. And if Zim mentioned _one more time _that he'd been launched into a star once already, Dib was going to make _sure_ that it happened again, truce or no truce!

The thoughts were a throwback to his earlier exchange with Zim, and the resulting realization, but he didn't think much of it otherwise until, suddenly, he was given a golden opportunity.

Taken off guard, Zim was tackled to the floor by a rogue survivor, pinned by the alien's bulk and his PAK ports impeded by the metal he was forced against. Before his air supply was unexpectedly cut off, the Irken managed to shriek something at Dib, some demand for assistance that left him frozen in shock. The survivor glared up at Dib as it wound its long hands around Zim's neck, knowing it was completely open to attack. All the boy had to do was lift his weapon and blast the creature to nothing.

Standing there sweating in the heat of the warship-turned-oven, Dib immediately thought that he should walk away, that he should leave Zim there to meet his final end. He knew the Irken knew it, too. The wide red eyes were locked on him, depths flooding with panicked distress and a touch of anger that spoke volumes.

_You're going to let this happen, aren't you? And I bet you'd like to stand and watch, maybe even __laugh__ in the final moments... _

Would he? It shouldn't have been a question. Dib shouldn't have had even the slightest bit of doubt. Zim was the _enemy_ – he was a danger to the entire _Earth_ – he needed to be _defeated_ –

_Your behavior is __disgusting__ and __dishonorable__..._

...Were Irkens any better?

_Planet Vort – once an ally – recently conquered..._

The makeshift weapon stayed at Dib's side, and the assailant deemed him harmless and looked away, back down to the squirming Irken, and suddenly found that it had to struggle to hold him down. Claws ripped into flesh, sharp teeth flashing as Zim twisted and writhed, and then one port of the PAK was unhampered and a single mechanical arm speared into the creature's bony shoulder. It shrieked out in agony, grip slackening long enough for the Irken to scream a choice phrase at his so-called ally.

"_Without Zim, you have no __proof__!"_

Then, Zim's voice was once more choked away, PAK arm flailing uselessly as its owner lost focus, and Dib took it all in, utterly shell-shocked. The words were the utmost truth, he knew, having learned long ago in his studies that to kill his enemy meant that the base would go up in flaming ruin. To leave Zim here to die, to be burnt to nothing by his planet's star, would mean that all he had done, all of the strife he'd suffered, would receive no recognition.

Without proof, Dib would still be the crazy child who said crazy things about crazy ambitions.

Without proof, Dib would always be his father's poor, insane son.

Were Irkens any less dishonorable than he had been? Perhaps not, but then, Dib needed his proof, and maybe – _maybe_ – Zim was an aberration to the pattern. Maybe Zim really _was_ as honorable as Dib hadn't been.

And that made him feel a little better when he lifted the gun and blasted Zim's attacker to nothing.

* * *

Although, given that Zim's not _actually_ an Invader and clearly has really low-quality stuff, maybe the base _wouldn't_ self-destruct if he died... ...Ah well, I guess Dib doesn't need to know that. :D

Okay, I'll admit that it was never _implicitly _stated that a base would self-destruct upon its master's demise, but I'm fairly certain that it would. After all, Irkens probably (read: definitely) wouldn't want their technology falling into enemy hands. And, as Zim once said: _LEAVE NO EVIDENCE!_


	91. Tears

This came out _waaaaaaay _different from what I'd first planned to write, but I actually like this a lot better. So...hooray! I...win, I guess. Also, uploading this prompt quick-like because OH YEAH, **ONE YEAR ANNIVERSARY**. Thus, to the logical centers of my brain, which insisted that I would never make it this far, I have this to say: _**HA!**_ Stick _that_ in yer pooper, _BRAIN_! I sure showed _you_!

Warning: Self-harm, mentioned abuse

* * *

**TEARS**

Foodcourtia...ah, such a ravaged hell-pit. Layered in age-old crumbs, soaked with age-old grease... It was torture on a soul so obsessed with cleanliness as Zim. It left him twitching and agitated, made worse the more time passed, minutes to hours to days and weeks, all dragged out far longer than ever before; he had never spent so much time on the planet. He couldn't bear to be immersed in such unsanitary conditions, not for _this _long. He was protected by the uniform, yet still he felt his flesh crawling, making him scratch at the covering fabric; so _filthy_, all of it.

Sometimes, rarely, it would get bad enough to where he would scratch through the fabric, claws biting into sensitive skin. It would add on to the marks he'd already received from employer, coworkers, customers alike, but his employer always dealt the worst of it. Punishment, he would say, for escaping not once, but _twice_ already.

Zim would escape again, certainly, once he located the weakness in the latest security. It was going to be trickier than the Betkin system, that he already knew from so many foiled attempts, but he was confident he would manage in the end; he _had_ to. This place was driving him _mad_. The sight of a spill sent aggravation spiraling upward, piled garbage left him raging, half-eaten food brought him to wretch. Just the customers alone were enough to send his 'spooch wriggling with utter disgust.

He had to escape. He _had_ to.

The Foodening wouldn't begin for weeks yet...he could still get away. _He could still get away-!_

His hopes were beginning to dwindle, his already questionable sanity fracturing further, when he was placed in the kitchens indefinitely. The customers were put-off by him, almost frightened, Sizz-lorr told him, and Zim wasn't surprised. There were dark circles under his eyes, which glinted with a sort of crazed desperation, and the sleeves of his uniform were nearly in tatters by now for how often he scratched at himself.

He needed to be allowed rest, needed to get back to his mission, he pleaded; this place was no good for him. And he didn't _mean_ to scratch, Zim swore, but there was so much _filth_ everywhere, so many _germs_... He'd used so much cleansing chalk, and even more disinfectant spray, yet still his skin felt so..._unclean_.

Sizz-lorr refused to let him leave, but agreed to allow longer breaks and a supply of replacement uniforms. He even allowed Zim to spend an entire day just scrubbing the restaurant down, polishing away the grease and grime and whatever else he thought soiled it.

It didn't help. It only brought the tiny Irken to twitch and snarl whenever a mess was made, to tremble in anger if an alien hand would linger on a surface for too long or even at all. He snapped at his coworkers, too, fumed and ranted at them for contaminating things, for being too careless. And the scratching didn't stop – if anything, it only got worse. It didn't matter how clean the restaurant was now; the remnants of how it once was had already been firmly ingrained in Zim's mind.

Filthy, contaminated, germ-infested, dirty, soiled, tainted, disgusting, infected, unclean-

It was breaking his psyche apart, and finally Sizz-lorr could allow for no more. Exile or not, needed help or not, Zim was fast becoming a danger to not only his coworkers and the customers, but to himself.

He was shipped back to Earth.

Zim remained in his base for weeks after that, curled up on the couch and silently basking in the sterility. GIR didn't even dare to approach him, not after the first outburst, when the little robot had brought in his newest porcine friend. Nothing was allowed into the house, and the Irken hadn't yet recovered enough to venture outside. Just thinking about the horrors of Earth that lay beyond the door brought him back to old habits, those he'd thought would be left behind with his misery on Foodcourtia.

Vile, impure, squalid, grungy, unwashed, verminous, gross, revolting, putrid, polluted-

Even if the desperation was gone, even if the dark circles beneath his eyes had faded away, none of it helped the damage that had already been done. Scars had been left, and not just on skin, and the sanitary surroundings could do nothing to fix that.

They could do nothing for the sad state of Zim's uniform, or – more importantly – the sad state of his mind.

They could do nothing to stop the drag of claws over flesh, to bring to an end the mindless unintentional self-harm wrought by paranoia.

And they would continue to do nothing when the Irken's base was infiltrated, contaminated, and the full onslaught of Zim's insane rage would crash down on the ultimate of vermin: a simple unsuspecting human boy.

* * *

Silly Dib; you probably should have waited a few more days.

(Random: Did anyone else notice that the toilet paper in Shloogorgh's had spikes on it...?)


	92. Hope

My brain wouldn't permit me to write anything other than this. And, as I am at the mercy of my brain, here it is!

Notes: Goes off the continuity of my fic 'Fall to Ruin', but does not require it to be read. There _might_ be slight spoilers for said fic and its possible continuations, though, but I might just be messing with you. :D

Warnings: Some crude language, original characters (two of them - one belonging to myself, and the other to a friend), alcohol, and very-_extremely_-vague-implied-highly-platonic-semi-not-really-ZADR

* * *

**HOPE**

It was noisy and dimly lit inside the busy nightclub, the only illumination being the colored spotlights and strobes, and the blazing glory that was the center stage. Aliens of all shapes and sizes had gathered around it to enjoy the techno beat pounding from the immense speakers there, and most of them were dancing, or at the very least bobbing and stamping to the tempo.

At the very heart of it all, surrounded by brilliantly flashing lights, as well as knobs and dials which controlled every aspect of the nightclub and the music it contained, a human woman stood grinning with wild abandon. She was short and heavyset, hair black with her skin tanned from both nationality and years spent beneath fiery suns on a dozen foreign worlds. Most notably, however, especially to those who had spent so long under the tyrannical rule of the Empire, there was a single word – a name – tattooed in Irken lettering upon her upper arm.

_Zim._

It was because of him, and the one other human he had chosen to save, that her survival had been ensured when Earth had fallen. Subsequently, it was because of her that Zim was here today, with Dib at his side as always.

At the very back of the nightclub, somewhat hidden from the crowd's view but not her own, the forms of her saviors-turned-caretakers could just be made out. Dib, she knew, would be uncomfortable in such a setting, while Zim would be uninterested and quite nearly bored. She turned her attention away from them when she spotted a certain someone approaching them; another human, another survivor she had liked and hadn't driven away with her brash personality, who had become both a close friend and, now, a business partner.

She would let her friend handle her caretakers for the moment; she had a special something to plan...

"Want anything to drink?" Dib jumped at the question, voiced almost tonelessly, looking up quickly to meet the sharp green gaze of his adopted daughter's only friend.

"Um... _Huh_; didn't think Mystery would take up being a waitress," he thought out loud, getting the woman to frown slightly. Across the table, Zim snickered somewhat, and her gaze hardened to accompany the frown.

"I'm only asking _you_, and only because _she _wouldn't stop whining," Mystery responded flatly, gesturing with a jerk of her thumb in the direction of the center stage. "So do you want anything or not? Because I won't ask again. I've got to get ready for my show, and I don't want to waste time with you and your alien fuck-buddy."

Zim squinted at that, looking confused, and Dib grimaced. "He's _not _my- Ugh. Never mind," he sighed, having already accepted the fact that the nature of his relationship with Zim would always be misconstrued. Or, like now, it would be ignored in favor of something completely incorrect and inappropriate, as well as wildly inaccurate; Irkens weren't even physically capable of such interaction anymore. So, rather than complaining about it, he simply asked, "What's the closest thing to a martini that you have here?"

The green-eyed woman leveled a disinterested and slightly disdainful stare at him, before replying in just as flat a tone as before, "A martini."

This time Dib was the one who squinted, looking politely befuddled, before he shot a look of irritation Zim's way; the Irken was snickering again. "I guess I'll be having that, then," he told her, going on to specify how he favored it. He might have been surprised that such a drink was available so far from Earth, but he gathered that he could attribute it to the nightclub's owner.

Mystery glanced over to regard Zim dully. "What about you?" she prompted.

"Got any Shkook'pa?" he questioned, expression brightening hopefully in a way that Dib didn't like. Alcohol and Zim, he had learned, did _not _mix well.

A little shrug, and the woman replied blandly, "Yeah, probably."

Silence, with Zim watching her expectantly, until he finally thought to confirm, "Zim wants that, then."

"Mm'kay."

"Uh, I don't...really...think that's a good idea," Dib stated carefully. Zim was just too much for him or _anyone_ to handle when he was drunk, or at least the Irken equivalent of drunk; the PAK kept actual inebriation limited to impossibility. However, being fermented sugars or carbohydrates, alcohol was nothing more than a potently unhealthy – and thus highly effective – snack, making any Irken to consume it terribly and obnoxiously happy beyond all reason.

And, of course, Zim being terribly and obnoxiously happy beyond all reason was _not _something that Dib really wanted to deal with right now.

"Nonsense, Dib-squiggle, Shkook'pa is a _brilliant _idea!" Zim insisted, sounding more excited than argumentative. It wasn't really surprising, given what he'd ordered, but before Dib could think to correct the issue, Mystery had already vanished into the crowd.

_Damn it. _Frowning across the table at the Irken, though not putting much into it, the man grumbled, "Sure, Zim. Whatever you say." His companion grinned brightly as expected, liking any kind of victory no matter how small it was, and reached over to pat his hand in a gesture that managed to be both friendly and condescending.

"There, there, none of your upset faces! ZIM will share his amazing drink," he offered pleasantly, and it would have sounded more courteous if he hadn't also added on, "Feel honored to be given such an opportunity; if it was anyone but a Dib, I would _annihilate _them!"

Raising an eyebrow, Dib replied, "That's nice of you, I guess, but, uh...in case you forgot, last time we shared that stuff, I was throwing up for a _week_."

"Oh, yes," Zim stated mildly, as though he'd only pretended to have forgotten. "That was gross, you shouldn't do it again."

"Because I really want to and everything," Dib told him with a healthy dose of sarcasm, because any less than that and it wouldn't come across to the Irken, who often failed to catch it if he wasn't paying attention. When their drinks arrived moments later, he thought to knock Zim's to the floor on 'accident', but then thought better of it, as he rather liked keeping his limbs and eardrums intact. Instead, he only slumped down somewhat in his chair, sipping sullenly at his own drink and watching as his adopted daughter addressed the audience.

He wasn't focusing much on her words at first, too preoccupied with ignoring the already giggling Irken across from him, but he quickly jumped to attention when he heard his name. **"-Dib, the best dad in the whole universe, and my Keeska, Zim, who's just the best **_**everything**_**, no matter **_**what **_**anyone else says! They're visiting from Vort just for today, so give 'em a round of applause or the club's closing early!"**

There was some scattered cheering, with good-natured laughter to accompany it, and Dib groaned quietly, face flushing darkly at the unwanted attention. Zim, meanwhile, beamed and waved around at everyone, by now too happy to care about anything but the fact that people were applauding him.

"**Okay, **_**so! **_** Due to the occasion, I'm gonna be playing a special song for my parents,"** she informed the crowd, grinning all the while. It was somewhat of a surprise to Dib, who had come to expect little other than self-centered behavior from her, thanks mostly to Zim's constant input during her upbringing. Of course, just as a smile born out of pride for her started to spread on his face, she quite nearly screamed, **"So shut the fuck up and listen to it!"**

Grimacing again, Dib turned back to his drink and sank down further in his seat, not even caring that the crowd seemed to find her actions funny. To him, it was positively _embarrassing_. "We've created a monster," he managed helplessly.

It didn't really help that all Zim did in response was giggle.

* * *

Again, I stick to my belief that Zim and Dib would be terrible parents. Also, finally got to use 'drunk' Zim. :D

Note: 'Keeska', as I think I've mentioned before, is what I use as the ancient Irken word for 'caretaker'. It is also, thanks to Zim, the word that Hope was (or _will _be) taught in place of 'mother'.


	93. Night

This came out _far_ longer and a _lot_ different than I'd wanted, but...yeah. I still like it, so whatever. It was supposed to be purely humor, but instead it came out as some kind of bizarre drama. Figures. XD

Warnings: Not-exactly-ZADR, references to sex (and especially hate-sex), dubious consent

* * *

**NIGHT**

It had meant nothing to Zim, that first time. An itch that needed scratching, perhaps, but nothing more than that. To be sure, it had been the simplest method of throwing Dib off, of convincing the human that there was a better alternative to cornering the Invader in a dark alley the way he had.

Zim hadn't expected to remain cornered for quite so long, once he'd quashed all the thoughts that told him what a stupid, inferior, and disgusting thing he was doing. Dib had been surprisingly receptive, had pinned him up against the wall after that first brief touch of lips, and it brought the Irken to wonder if – while it meant absolutely nothing to him – perhaps it meant something to his enemy.

He hadn't intended for it to go so far, and if he'd known what to expect from the months that followed, Zim never would have allowed himself to linger and remain contently cornered for as long as he had. He never would have allowed Dib to take things beyond that quick and meaningless kiss, would never have allowed hands to wander, nor clothes to be pushed aside or shed entirely. Allowing this, letting himself scratch at a mindless itch that had only been mildly plaguing him, brought Zim nothing more than a heaping helping of trouble.

After that first time, battles were interrupted, arguments cut off, plans brought to a screeching halt, all by Dib's unswerving and relentless insistence to repeat the experience. Zim would be screaming in the teen's face at one moment, only to be pinned and kissed breathless the next, and that frustrated him greatly. It frustrated him beyond belief that his enemy could find amusement in his threats now, that he could proclaim the Earth's future doom and end up in a tangle of limbs and bedsheets.

That wasn't the only thing that bothered Zim, of course. Aside from how quickly he could go from resisting to demanding more, which also tended to get him a mite peevish, there was the simple fact that it happened almost regularly. _Far_ too regularly for the Irken to possibly be comfortable with, that much was certain. The Dib was such a physical person, it was more than Zim could stand sometimes; he'd never been touched so much, or so often, in his entire _life_!

In some way, all of it bothered him, and being who he was, Zim had made a point of complaining about it – a _lot_. More often than not, however, it was waved off as the normal token aggression and resistance, and that too served to fuel the raging fire that was building just beneath the Irken's facade of his usual aggravation. It wasn't long before a simple glance, something that should have been as meaningless to him as that first kiss, was enough to bring it all blazing forth.

Zim's irritation had already been sparked when Dib had broken into his base, sneaking in like a rat when he should have been at home sleeping. That on its own had been annoying, but he went so far as to ignore the threat of the base's ever-present security – the threat of the alien invader standing right before him! – in favor of licking the invader's cheek. It burned Zim slightly, but not so much as his budding anger, and certainly not so much as the torrent of rage that came when the human nodded towards the couch with a smirk. That smug look, that _damnable _smug look, as though he had Zim wrapped around his finger-!

No. _No more._ He was _done_ with this.

"How _DARE_ you!" The smack that echoed through the base's living room then was likely the most satisfying sound Zim had heard in years, the simple sound of his palm meeting Dib's cheek as hard as it possibly could. _Beautiful._ The human stumbled, but didn't fall, and when he'd steadied himself he stared at Zim in shocked bewilderment, one hand coming up to rest on the sore spot.

"What is _wrong_ with you, Zim?" Dib exclaimed huffily as he gingerly rubbed at his cheek, trying to ease away the stinging pain.

Claws clenching before him, Zim spat out, "Wrong? You want to know what's _wrong_? Oh, I'll _tell_ you what's wrong, you miserable _dirt-_creature – I've had _enough_ of this foolishness from you! I can't _stand_ it!"

"Foolishness? _What_? What are you even _talking_ about?"

"_SILENCE_!" Zim screamed, throwing his fist at the teen. It was somewhat expected now, though, and Dib ducked out of the way just in time before tackling the Irken to the floor. Zim continued to scream, his words unintelligible, and it took all of Dib's strength just to hold him down as he kicked and squirmed. They tussled like that for a while, so similar yet so different from all their past scuffles, until Zim's rage had burned down to a smolder, leaving his throat raw and his body shaking from exertion.

Dib frowned down at him, expression uncomprehending and his breathing heavy; it had been some time since he'd had to really struggle with the alien. Zim stubbornly refused to look at him, antennae flattened and mouth set in something like a pout, but he made no effort to shove him away. Emboldened, Dib leaned to taste, hands moved to touch, and suddenly the Irken was fighting again.

The words that came shrieking forth didn't seem to be in English at first, Zim too far engrossed in beating his fists against the teen's chest. It took a while for Dib to realize that his aim wasn't entirely to hurt, but to get some point across, though it wasn't until the words melded into something he could understand that he figured out exactly what that point was. "Stop it, stop it, _stop it_! You, you horrible _Dib_, with your touching fingers and makings of _love_, I hate it I hate it I _hate it_!" Zim screeched out as he dragged his claws down across shirt fabric, catching and leaving little tears in the blue.

"Zim, _calm down_!" Dib shouted back, his words mostly lost in the tirade, where plain English mixed with Irken speech in an unfathomable mess of what may as well have been gibberish. "ZIM!" He managed to catch the alien's wrists, but pinning him served only to make it worse, a reminder of what he'd done before in matters much more lewd.

"No," Zim hissed out, jerking from side to side. "No no no _no_ _no no no NO NO __**NO**__ **NO **__**NO**_!" He tugged fruitlessly against Dib's grip, flailing his legs in protest, and all that fell from his lips after that was his own language, all fierce growls and harsh clicks.

Not knowing what else he could do, not even able to understand what Zim was trying to say now, Dib just remained as silent and still as he could, letting the Irken get it all out of his system. When at last Zim went quiet under him, trembling and lightly panting, he gave a grating sigh. "All right, I _get it_. ...Are you _done_ now?" Claret eyes flicked up to him briefly, before narrowing and drifting off to the side, glaring at nothing. It was childish, but nothing that couldn't be expected from him, and Dib sighed again. "Okay, fine. You know, if you aren't in the mood, you could just _tell_ me instead of _freaking out_ over it."

Zim's reply was barely heard, his voice hoarse from misuse and the words only grudgingly grumbled. "Zim _has_ been telling you."

It left a cold feeling to settle over Dib, and he couldn't find anything to say to that. "I...I thought-" he tried at first, but had no way to end the sentence, not in a way that wouldn't enrage the alien all over again.

"Stupid," Zim bit out wearily, too exhausted to pull up the energy to care that the teen was still perched over him, body almost crushing his own and their legs entangled like so many times before. Why should he care? He'd gotten his point across, anyway. "So stupid," he managed to continue, "to think that _Zim_ would want such things..." He grimaced, tensing up just so, when Dib's head drooped and came to rest against his shoulder, and he thought to snarl when he felt lips brushing over his uniform. The only thing that stopped him was the realization that the contact was accidental; Dib was mumbling something, in a way that suggested he almost didn't want to be heard.

"You did before."

Typical; so typical of a human to blow a single event out of proportion. Zim let a sigh escape him as well, and he admitted, "Once, yes. Irrelevant, though – it was a stupid mistake, one Zim was not _intending_ to repeat. But _you_-" He cut himself off there, unable to hold in a frustrated growl. "-_you_ just had to go and make it a _big deal_, _didn't_ you, _Dib_?"

The teen pushed himself up on his elbows, peering down at Zim with a disgruntled expression, before he grumbled, "You're the one that started it, so don't go blaming _me_. I just thought you _liked_ it."

"Pfft. Since when did _you_ care about Zim liking anything?"

"I care if it distracts you from taking over Earth," Dib responded quietly, the slightest hint of a smirk quirking at his mouth. Smug, so smug, and yet now Zim couldn't bring himself to do anything more than glare at him.

"Zim? _Distracted_? Nonsense," he huffed irritably, squirming a little under the human, who shifted in deference to his lack of comfort, coming to rest more at his side than on top of him. He frowned somewhat when the Dib purposefully left a hand to linger near his hip, but didn't protest, only scoffing, "As though Zim could ever be distracted by your freakish rooster."

Dib blinked. "Uh, I...think the word you're looking for is 'cock'..." he corrected awkwardly, flushing a little.

"Whatever," Zim snorted, flicking his eyes skyward in exasperation. "It's freakish, and also probably thinks for you more than your actual brain does."

"Gee, thanks," Dib replied flatly.

"Mmhmm." Silence descended after that, Zim content to lie back and recover from the dispute, even as the teen remained leaning over him, one arm nestled comfortably behind the Irken's head as the other trailed along the hem of his uniform. He could feel the human's warm breath on his face, only serving as a mild annoyance, and he let his eyes drift mostly shut. Only mostly; still he kept his gaze pinned on the Dib, and, on a whim, he asked dully, "Do you _love_ Zim?"

An eyebrow was raised, and Dib responded just as dully, "I think that might just be the stupidest question I've ever heard." That same little smirk appeared when Zim chuckled, widening just so when the teen asked casually, "So, when do you think you'll be in the mood again?"

Oddly, the inquiry didn't stir up the old embers of anger, only pulling another airy chuckle forth. "Ask Zim later," he replied vaguely, a teasing glint in his expression.

"How _much_ later?" The smirk didn't fade as Dib pressed for something more specific, and Zim at first only answered with his own self-satisfied smirk. Answering with words might be, perhaps, a little too cruel.

But of course, since when did he care?

He giggled meanly, and told Dib without a further ounce of hesitation, "Maybe in a year or two." It was an utter lie, and certainly one that he didn't mean at first, but he decided that maybe – just _maybe_ – he might go ahead and change his mind. Why not allow himself to scratch at a mindless itch now and then? After all, the crestfallen look that followed his answer, Zim thought pleasantly, may have very well made up for all the frustration he'd had to endure.

* * *

You're such a cockblocker, Zim. :(


	94. Star

I went through two different versions of this. One was written on very little sleep, and (though I thought it brilliant at the time) was absolutely retarded. This version, though similar in some aspects (and wording I still liked and absolutely _had_ to work in somehow), is a little better and makes more sense, but I'm still not entirely pleased with it. Regardless, I figured it was about time I posted something. Apologies for the long break, but after the next prompt, it's probably going to continue - I'd give reasons as to why, but I don't need to bore you with details of what I do when I'm not online.

Warning: The inclusion of yet another something that probably shouldn't be put anywhere _near _Invader Zim, but was anyway because I have no sense of decency and/or shame. :D

* * *

**STAR**

Five years. Five years, he had been on Earth, and yet Zim still had _no_ idea how to properly behave like a human being. As far as Dib could figure, the Irken was terrible at pretending to be something or someone he wasn't, and yet he continued to proclaim his mastery in the field.

He was an Invader, he told only Dib, and as such, he was also a highly talented actor.

In reply, Dib had told him that if he thought he was so great, then maybe he should think about joining theatre class. And, when the idea had garnered an expression of approval, he also told Zim to break a leg, and perhaps also jump into a lake afterwards. Unfortunately, the Irken had been slightly less enthusiastic about _those_ suggestions than Dib would have hoped, though understandably so.

To his great surprise, Zim actually _did_ take his input into account when sophomore year began, choosing theatre as one of his electives. It might have been the only class they didn't share, since Dib didn't particularly care for the idea of humiliating himself onstage (especially given that he already embarrassed himself enough in public). However, he greatly enjoyed the idea of _Zim_ humiliating himself onstage, and, as he had always taken every precaution necessary to ensure he could keep a close eye on his genocidal nemesis, he wasn't about to stop now and let the Invader go unsupervised for a whole class period.

Especially with the knowledge that said Invader would definitely use that class period solely for scheming purposes.

And so, Dib made it a point to be enrolled alongside Zim in theatre class, swearing to himself that he would lay low and simply enjoy any and all misfortune that might befall his enemy. Of course, as was often the case, he found himself highly disappointed.

It wasn't that Zim actually turned out to be an amazing actor, as he'd proclaimed he was. In fact, he was about as bad as Dib had been expecting, because he overdid _everything_. No, Zim's skill (or lack thereof) in the field of theatrics was not the main issue that had brought disappointment to the young human.

It was the fact that Dib hadn't expected to land any sort of important role – which he _did –_ and that he _should_ have expected his terrible luck to come into play – which he _didn't_. And, as it happened, his terrible luck came into play by ensuring that he was forced into a part which, though everyone _else_ thought it fitting, he didn't believe suited him in the least.

A deranged man, or perhaps a demon, who could end lives without thought, hesitation, or mercy.

He knew enough about the role to gain a full dose of aggravation, particularly when he caught wind of the reason _why_ he had been specifically chosen for it. Apparently his classmates, all of whom had suggested him for the role and then voted he be cast into it (Zim included, though his reason was to seem normal rather than be an outright jerk as usual), believed that he was the most likely of the student body to snap and go on a violent killing spree.

Certainly, knowing such did _wonders_ for his self-esteem.

And, certainly, Dib was absolutely _thrilled_ to take on the lead role, which would probably end up with him making a total fool of himself in front of half the skool.

Most certainly of all, he was _delighted_ to learn that Zim had been cast as the character who would end up killing his own. This, of course, meant that he would have to suffer endless gloating from the Irken, because apparently _pretending_ to kill someone constituted as 'victory' in his mind.

Either way, the upcoming play became just another battle between the two, and Dib was determined to outshine Zim no matter what. He had a feeling he would fail, or at least look stupid in front of everyone they knew, but when the time finally came for the curtains to rise, he didn't particularly care; he just knew he had to beat Zim.

'Break a leg.'

It was a customary phrase, and one that Dib offered to the Invader once more – again, as an honest suggestion rather than an idiom – before he found himself in the spotlight, reciting morbid lines and crooning out even darker melodies that he could better imagine coming from Zim than himself.

_'And the vermin of the world inhabit it, but not for long – they all deserve to die...' _

It was at the snapping point of the character's mind, when he went down into the audience with blades clenched in his hands – _'Who, sir; you, sir? No one's in the chair, come on, come on!' _– that Dib found himself truly conflicted. Simply being cast in the role as he had was clearly chilling to the viewers, who could believe...truly _believe_...in a fabricated persona just because it was Dib playing it, which meant that already he had proved himself superior to Zim in this. But...at the same time...the shivers of those watching, and their belief...

_'Attend the tale...'_

...Both existed solely because of what they thought Dib to be.

_'His skin was pale and his eye was odd...'_

That was why, as the final chorus lilted through the auditorium, Dib made a decision he thought he'd never make. When the next semester began, he would allow Zim a minor victory.

_'Freely flow the blood of those who moralize...'_

He would allow for one class period to separate them. He would drop out of theatre class...

_'He never forgets and he never forgives...'_

...and he would never question Zim's acting skills ever again.

* * *

That's probably a good idea, Dib.

Fun(?) fact, and proof of the goofy ideas I have sometimes: I once intended to write a parody of Sweeney Todd starring the Invader Zim characters, and had the entire character cast figured out. Some aspects of the plot were changed, of course, because I ended up with Professor Membrane as Judge Turpin and Gaz as Johanna, and I just don't dig incest. xD; Of course, Dib took the place of Todd, while Zim was Mrs. Lovett, though it was less because of ZADR and more because of this exchange I wanted to do:

Zim: By the sea-

Dib: ((interrupts)) But you're allergic to-

Zim: BY THE SEA! DX

Dib: OKAY, _FINE!_ x(

...Also, Zim in girl's clothes is automatically hilarious. ... ((dodges tomatoes))


	95. Courage

BAM! I have finally broken 100,000 words! (This is impressive for me - you must understand.) Uploaded alongside Star because I felt it needed to be, what with the freakishly long break and all. A...consolation prize? I don't know. Either way, updates beyond the next prompt will still be sporadic, and after prompt 100, Singularity is definitely going on hiatus; it's been a while since Fall to Ruin got some love, after all.

This became insanely long because I was having so much fun with it. It's pretty different in style from my usual stuff, I think.

Warnings: Alternate universe, blatant crossovers, and a load of references. Also, a probably very out-of-character Stephen Colbert.

* * *

**COURAGE**

"Captain's Log – Timestamp December 14th, 3056; 1300 hours...

All is going well on the exploratory front, certainly much better than we'd expected it would after that near disaster in the Kuiper Belt not two months ago. We have reached the far side of Via Lactea, and have come across quite a few surprises, the most exciting of course being..._we're not alone_!

We will be meeting with dignitaries of the Vortian race in approximately three hours, and I personally have high hopes; they seem very friendly. If we're lucky, they will be interested in a trade route with the human race, but if not, perhaps they'll be willing to point us in the direction of other alien species.

I'm not too concerned with the trade route, myself; we'd profit more from information on those who share this galaxy – this _universe_ – with us.

Captain Membrane, signing off."

...

"Captain's Log – Galactic Timestamp 29837 – 4 – 4.5 – 151°76'12"...

We've learned this interesting system of time measurement from the Vortians, who are bloody clever! (Not that that's a surprise or anything.) Anyway, it makes quite a bit more sense than our methods, especially for use off-planet. I'll be sending back a data file with the details regarding how it works.

The Vortians aren't too keen on a trade route as of right now, but they _were_ interested in what they called a 'mutually beneficial relationship', which (for all intents and purposes) we may as well call an alliance on our end. I must admit, though, things were a little awkward in the conference hall at first; these guys are a lot more amiable than we expected they'd be, and by the way they fawned over us, they seemed to think we were something like children.

They're right, of course; in the grand scheme of the universe, we haven't been around for very long at all, and we only recently discovered the secrets to interstellar travel.

I'll be meeting with one of their dignitaries on my own later this week; a female named Mev Cerr.

Personal note: I like her; she must be nicer than Medical Officer Keef's grandmother, and that's saying something.

Captain Membrane, signing off."

...

"Captain's Log – Galactic Timestamp 29837 – 4 – 4.8 – 025°12'58"...

Despite how much I have to relay, I'm going to try to keep this brief; we're navigating through an electrical storm at the moment.

Mev has told me some unnerving things about the galaxy in which we live. While most empires we'll come across in Via Lactea are friendly sorts, apparently it's also home to quite a few races that would be more than happy to obliterate all life as we know it. It's not really surprising, of course; the unnerving bit is the fact that our mothership came _far_ too close to unintentionally encountering one of them.

Turns out that if we hadn't taken the roundabout route we did, our first contact with extraterrestrials would have had disastrous results, as we would have come face to face with a race known as the Grox. Not only are these 'Grox' one of what most alien species refer to as the 'Tyrannous Twelve', but, even worse, they're ranked in the top _five_ of those twelve when it comes to how dangerous they are.

I'd say that the Vortians' names for the 'Tyrannous Twelve' list sections are kind of silly (specifically, the mentioned top five are known simply as the 'Ferocious Five'), but it's not really something to laugh about. In fact, it's pretty serious from where we're standing.

I'll be sending over a data file with further information shortly.

On a lighter note, we've made a new ally. They're called the Meekrob, and this time, we may be looking at a trade partner; they reacted favorably when the notion was brought up.

Captain Membrane, signing off."

...

**ENCLOSED: DATA FILE #1079-42 – sig. Captain Dib Membrane, Fleet Class 21B (Exploratory)**

**Ship ser. code 0118-999-881-999-119-7253; alt. P36.e-H1LL**

_The Tyrannous Twelve_

_A comprehensive list of twelve space-faring alien species who are not affiliated with – or act in direct violation of – the United Galactic Federation, in which the human race (officially recognized as the Terran Empire) is now enrolled alongside our allies, the Vortian and Meekrob Empires. Please note that, when put into perspective with those at the top of the list (the so-called 'Ferocious Five'), many of the empires in question are simply those we should take great caution with when interacting, should we ever come into contact with them._

_The Contrary Quartet __– These races can (in theory) be reasoned with  
_

12.) The Hutt Empire. The Hutts are highly criminally inclined; mobsters, basically. They are influential throughout much of Via Lactea, controlling thousands of crime syndicates, including (but not limited to) gangs, drug trafficking, and smuggling rings. Money and valuable goods speak best to them, and with enough of such things, they can be swayed towards a less negative sort of cooperation.

11.) The Saiyan Empire. Recently recovering from an attack by the (now destroyed) Kold Empire, Saiyans are very protective of their home turf. They have an insatiable lust for battle, and supposedly limitless potential when it comes to physical power and fighting prowess, so they're often employed as mercenaries to subdue or annihilate the populations of inhabited planets. Aside from competitive fighting (and strong challengers in such), money and goods can motivate them into a more positive sort of relation, much like the Hutts.

10.) The Vogon Empire. Vogons are mainly unpleasant to deal with rather than overtly dangerous due to their incredibly bureaucratic nature and callous temperament. However, they won't hesitate to destroy an occupied planet if it's in the way of them getting something done, unless official paperwork exists (in _their_ files) to prevent them from doing so. Similar to the previous two, money speaks very well to Vogons, as long as it is gained in a legal manner (legal to them, that is).

9.) The Romulan Empire. Romulans are cunning and opportunistic, which, when coupled with their xenophobic tendencies, means they'll opt to conquer species more often than ally with them. When it suits their purposes, however, they are not averse to attempting diplomacy.

_The Terrible Trio __– Avoidance is recommended, but not vital to survival  
_

8.) The Drej Empire. Comprised of energy, they mostly keep to themselves. However, they are highly paranoid, and if a new race (such as us humans) appears, it can make them edgy if the new race seems threatening. Of course, the Drej being edgy means something gets blown up – usually a planet or two – and they will only calm down once they are assured that no threat exists, or when every remaining trace of the supposed threat has been eliminated.

7.) The Krikkiter Empire. A sort of honorary mention; they are currently in Federation-enforced isolation and thus out of commission, and only to be of concern if the Slo-Time envelope surrounding their planet is undone. They were purportedly a very friendly folk, however, they were intensely xenophobic and wished to destroy everything that wasn't of planet Krikkit (i.e. the rest of the entire universe). Surprisingly advanced technologically for their race's young age.

6.) The Goa'uld Empire. Typically megalomaniacal and genocidal, the Goa'uld seek to populate the known universe. They have a feudal government system, and are often warring amongst each other as well as with other races; they employ genetically engineered warriors known as Jaffa to do much of the fighting for them. The Goa'uld are parasitic creatures; we have been warned that humans can serve as excellent hosts for them.

_The Ferocious Five – Avoid these races AT ALL COSTS_

5.) Replicators. Not particularly accepted as being an Empire, as they have no discernible society, and galactic law holds no meaning to them. They seem to be simple self-replicating machines that seek out advanced technology, which they will then take over and incorporate into their own being, both to better protect themselves from threats and further their 'race'. Not much else is known about them.

4.) The Borg Empire. A pseudo-race of cybernetic beings with little to no individuality, with most if not all being linked into a hive mind known as the Borg Collective. Their ultimate goal is to forcibly assimilate all known sentient species, as well as all technology and knowledge.

3.) The Dalek Empire. Bent on universal domination and conquest, the Daleks lack compassion and remorse, having supposedly removed all of their emotions aside from hate. According to other races, this has left them with an uncontrollable urge to remove all non-Dalek life from the universe.

2.) The Grox Empire. "The Grox are machines with absolutely no sense of humor! They destroy entire races and never offer an explanation of what it is that ticks them off!" (Blocks of Chance, Vol. 8) Sentient cyborgs that appear impish and weak, the Grox dwell within a vast and heavily guarded territory at the center of Via Lactea, and they are most notable for being hostile and just plain evil. While they are somewhat unenthusiastic nowadays when it comes to spreading their empire via conquering or colonizing, they are still extremely dangerous, and no race has managed to form a positive working relationship with them. They have only one 'ally', brought about solely by the fact that if they warred with each other, both of their races, and the rest of the universe, could be completely destroyed.

1.) The Irken Empire. Very little is known about Irkens, as no one who has ever seen an Irken has lived to tell the tale. They are highly secretive, their security impenetrable, and their ships are vastly powerful, serving them well in what seems to be a bid at conquering all non-Irken life. Their empire stretches over an area greater even than that of the Grox, their sole ally, and they are highly territorial; even diplomatic ships sent too close will be promptly destroyed (or toyed with for a while, and _then_ destroyed). They seem to be similar to the Grox in mentality, destroying races and planets with no explanation whatsoever, and are rumored to be partially mechanized. However, unlike their ally, Irkens are clearly quite enthusiastic when it comes to expansion through subjugation and colonization.

_It should be noted that there are, of course, a great number of races that should be dealt with carefully aside from these listed twelve. In fact, any new species that is contacted should be met with the most courteous of attitudes; CLICK HERE to read more on this subject..._

Postscript: _Captain's observation – it's interesting how the so-called 'Ferocious Five' is made up solely (though the Irkens _could _be an exception, given that there are only rumors) of partially to fully mechanized beings. Does this, perhaps, say something about the nature of sentient A.I., or could there be more to it than that...?_

...

"Captain's Log – Galactic Timestamp 29837 – 4 – 5.5 – 93°24'01"...

A rather unfortunate turn of events; we stumbled across a wormhole not long after passing through the electrical storm mentioned in my last log. Navigational and communication systems were inoperable for the last two and a half weeks, hence the lack of contact from our end. To make matters worse, the navigational systems are still malfunctioning, so we no longer have any idea where we are in the galaxy, if we are in fact stationed in Via Lactea at all at this point in time. We will remain at our current location until further notice.

Captain Membrane, signing off."

...

"Captain's Log – Galactic Timestamp 29837 – 4 – 5.6 – 201°36'41"...

A Meekrob ship has come to our aid. It seems we are far out of the reach of the United Galactic Federation's jurisdiction, and almost out of reach of communications signals, as well. From the other captain's behavior, we may also have found ourselves in a troublesome spot, but he (she?) seems confident that we can avoid any potential conflict. We have so far not been told exactly what needs avoiding out in this remote sector, but I will be sending updates with information as I receive it.

Captain Membrane, signing off."

...

**SIGNAL RECEIVED FROM MEEKROB SOLACION CRUISER (cl. 00023.65)**

**TIMESTAMP: 29837 – 4 – 5.7 - 010°47'23"**

...en...se-...! S... ...O...-...!...Rep...-repe...!...rk...vesse... -prroach..g-...! S- ...O...S... R-peat...at! Irke-...els..-roaching! S.O...S...

...

**SIGNAL RECEIVED FROM MEEKROB SOLACION CRUISER (cl. 00023.65)**

**TIMESTAMP: 29837 – 4 – 5.7 - 010°49'00"**

Solacion Cruiser Class 00023.65 has been destroyed in Galactic Quadrant 40-4, Sector NN5 Active M Omega. Eulogies are to be prepared for the citizens on board. CLICK HERE for the full list of approximately twenty three (23) Meekrob, twelve (12) Vortian, three (3) Vulcan, and two (2) human passengers...

...

"Captain's Log – Galactic Timestamp 29837 – 4 – 5.7 – 010°50...Oh, God, I don't have time for this. Our ally's ship has just been blown to pieces and I have _no idea_ where the attack originated from- MELVIN! See if you can get a read on our surroundings, try to send out a hailing signal to whatever's out there! Chunk, if worse comes to worse, you man the guns!"

"Yes, sir!"

"Gaz, you go along with him, see if you can't- Come on, don't give me that look _now_, we don't have- _Shit!_ What _is_ that thing?"

"Th...they're hailing us, Captain."

...

**MESSAGE RECEIVED BY THE HIGH MEEKROB COUNCIL FROM (unknown vessel)**

**TIMESTAMP: 29837 – 4 – 5.7 - 010°50'00"**

If this is another attempt at 'diplomacy', it's a pretty sad one. You should try harder. Or not. Preferably not, because it's kind of annoying. Hopefully having your ships blown up will help you get the point. We doubt it, though.

So anyway, we're going to destroy the other ship now. It's kind of weird-looking, though, so maybe we'll see what's on it first. If it's interesting enough, we might just take anything cool that's on it and forgive you for trying to trespass again. And then you can stop being dumb and just stay away from our quadrants already, only you're probably not capable of that, because you're obnoxiously intrusive and nosy.

Have a nice day! :D

...

**NASAPLACE LOG**

**Stardate: Last week, Tuesday, at sometime around lunch (or maybe closer to dinnertime)**

Agent 'Darkbooty' reporting; everyone here at NASAPlace is still freaking out over the loss of contact with Dib's starship, P36.e-H1LL, especially since the Meekrob are claiming their rescue vessel sent out an S.O.S., and then an automated signal of its destruction not two minutes later. It's been three weeks now, and there's still no sign that _our_ crew is all right. At least, no sign that anyone has seen or heard but _me_; good ol' Captain Dib's made me promise to keep things on the down-low, of course, probably wants a hero's welcome when his ship shows up out of nowhere with _that_ thing in tow.

I don't know how he managed it. Just baffles me sometimes, that kid.

Wonder how the rest of the Federation's gonna take it?

Dib's always a step ahead, he is; he's been recording everything in his travels. Not just in his logs, oh no. No, see, he's been making good use of the security cameras on board the P36. Most of whoever reads this, once all's said and done, will be wondering why that's important, why that matters. Agent DB, they'll say, what good is footage from a security camera if it's on a starship you're not even in contact with?

I'll tell you what good it is: damn incredible good, that's what. That clever kid – no, not a kid anymore, a captain! - he started streaming the security feed directly to me, the moment things started looking bad. I'm holding a little disc in my hand, right now, that contains video files of the human race managing the impossible. Video files of incredible bravery (or at least a facade of incredible bravery) from P36's captain.

And, most importantly, video files of an alien race no one has ever seen before.

I've got it all right here in the palm of my hand.

That Dib – _ha_! He's amazing. Just _amazing_.

Darkbooty out.

...

**The Day-To-Day (Issue 9856)**

**Your most credible source for gossip this side of Vort!**

Council members are still baffled by the peaceful passing of what appeared to be an _Irken vessel_ in Vort space early this day, somewhere around 020° and 45'. What's _really_ got everyone talking, though, is the companion traveling alongside it; definitely a minimally armed exploratory ship, and _definitely_ not one of Irken origin – in fact, it seemed to be _Terran_ in design!

Certainly, we're all wondering what our human allies are doing palling around with a dangerous race like the Irkens, but the bigger question is...how did they _pull it off _in the first place? Not only that, but why have the Irkens decided to play _nice_ all of a sudden, and with a race so new to the universe?

The most obvious answer is, of course, that the humans have mind-control powers that they've so far failed to mention...

(Cont. on screen 3...)

...

**RECORDED BROADCAST: The Colbert Report, filmed live in the Colbert Nation studios (Apr. 22****nd****, 3057; 11:30 PM)**

**NOTABLE SEGMENTS: **Insistence for Prop. 16's annulment (press 1 to view), The Word: MOON MALL - blaming of future economic failure on lunar shopping complex (press 2 to view), interview with Capt. Dib Membrane of P36.e-H1LL (press 3 to view), details on rally for the re-election of Ultra-President Stephen Colbert Ver. 28 (press 4 to view)

**You have pressed 3 – confirm? Y/N**

**Choice confirmed; skipping to segment 3...**

"So, an alliance with the Irken Empire, huh? That's some pretty heavy stuff there, Dib. Think the human race can handle it?" From inside its preservation tank, Ultra-President Colbert's head stares out intensely at the captain of the P36, who, from the look on his face, knows the other man (or rather, remnants of a man) isn't really being quite as serious as he might seem.

A bland shrug, before Dib replies easily, "You know, it's not as big a deal as everyone's making it out to be. I mean, I-"

"So what you're saying is that allying with the most unfriendly race in the galaxy isn't that great of an achievement. Well, I'm glad we've cleared all that up!" Spindly arms on the preservation tank's side wave dismissively towards the studio audience, Colbert drawling flatly, "Nothing to see here, everybody, you can go on home now – Dib here is saying that the Irkens aren't that big a deal."

There is some laughter from the audience, which the starship captain echoes somewhat hesitantly. "Okay, that's...not really what I was trying to imply..."

"Oh, what, so we should all cheer and bow down to you instead, Mr. Amazing Captain? I think you might have a bit of an ego problem. You might even have the biggest ego."

Rather than ignoring this, which probably would have been the wiser choice, Dib decides to build off of the comment. "You know who else has a giant ego? Aside from you?"

"Aside from me?"

"Aside from you."

Stephen seems to consider this, then replies patiently, "Now, Captain, everyone knows that I don't have any problems with the size of my ego; I'm just always right." The audience cheers at this, which would have worsened the Ultra-President's ego problem if he had had an ego problem to speak of (which he doesn't), bringing him to grin slightly and continue with, "But, for the sake of that strange and unnatural thing that I like to call 'nahlej', go ahead and tell us who you're referring to."

"Irkens, obviously. They're almost like- ...Well, no, they're exactly like kids. They believe that they're always right, and that everything should go the way they want it to, and-"

"I sure hope they don't mind you comparing them to kids," Stephen states then, glancing about in something akin to concern. "We should probably have an apology marquee somewhere for any Irkens that might be watching – something like, 'Don't hate the rest of us for what this crazy person is saying'. Or maybe just, 'Please don't kill us, Irkens, we think you're really great'. ...I think I like the second one best. Bob, put that on the bottom of the screen, will you?"

As the audience chuckles, and Dib looks on with a touch of embarrassment, the chosen phrase begins to scroll across the screen, over and over.

"Yeah, that's good," Stephen nods, satisfied, before he blatantly disregards his earlier concern over the matter by asking, "So, Irkens are like kids? What, do they scream and throw tantrums if you don't give them a dollar for ice cream?"

"Uh...they might, actually," Dib admits with a laugh. "Irkens love sweet things, and...well, pretty much any snack food, really."

Not seeming particularly interested, the preserved head speaks up again. "Huh. How'd you find that out?"

The question brings the captain to scratch at the back of his head sheepishly, face flushing just a little. "Completely by accident, and in a stroke of luck. It goes back to the incident in Quadrant 40-4, I'm sure everyone remembers that."

"Eh, not really, no."

Remarkably undaunted by this, Dib only lets a slight smile cross his lips at the amused titters from the audience, and responds smoothly, "Good to know the Ultra-President's always keeping up with current events. Anyway, it turned out that we'd landed ourselves right on the edge of Irken territory – or so the Meekrob _thought_. But as it just so happens, the Irkens had recently colonized a star system in that area, meaning we were actually _inside_ their territory."

"And if you hadn't canceled your subscription to The Irken Gazette, you would have known about that," Stephen scoffs. "I mean, geez, I read mine every week."

"Can't imagine that's an easy task, what with all the alien letters no non-Irkens have ever seen before."

"Their Q's and W's all look the same to me."

Trying to keep from snickering so as to maintain some semblance of professionalism, Dib simply nods and opts to resume the relating of his explanation. "So we're in the middle of Irken territory with this Meekrob ship – Solacion class, meant for diplomatic missions – and an Irken Ripper vessel comes out of nowhere. The Solacion cruiser was lost, unfortunately, but the P36 threw the Ripper's captain off; our ships have never been seen that far out before, after all."

"Would have stayed that way, too, but not all of us are expert navigators." One of the preservation tank's spindly arms pats Dib on the arm in a mockingly consoling manner, getting a slight eyeroll in return.

"Hey, in some ways, the situation turned out to be a good thing-"

"I don't think the Solacion's crew would agree." There is sprinkled laughter from amongst the audience, some of it hesitant.

"Well, no," Dib admits uncomfortably, "but I said in _some_ ways. We've allied with a race that, up until now, hasn't even allowed _visual contact_, let alone physical. They've offered us protection, and all they want in return is loyalty and a steady stream of _junk food_, which we have an _overabundance_ of anyway."

After a brief stare rife with skepticism, Stephen gives a little shake of his head (which is impressive in that, preservation tank aside, he is _only_ a head). "I'm still not understanding this whole Irken obsession with snacks – you're terrible at explaining."

"I think the real problem is that you're very good at interrupting," Dib retorts mildly, getting an amused smirk from Stephen and some chuckles from the studio audience, solely for how completely true the comment is. "That aside, though, right after the Solacion was lost, the Ripper's crew decided to hail us to find out who and what we were and what we were doing in Irken territory. I tell you, we all damn near _freaked_ when they finally told us where our ship had ended up."

"What do you mean, 'finally'? Were you all just chatting for a half hour before they decided to let you know that they were Irken?"

"Yeah, basically. The captain kind of jerked us around a little at first," Dib explains, going on with, "When I asked him why they would only allow us to communicate with them over an audio feed, he just laughed like I was a total _idiot_. Did the same thing when I asked why they'd destroyed our rescue party. It was only once he realized that we had _no_ idea who they were that he decided he'd let us in on what he thought was so funny; yeah, you're in Irken territory, you're communicating with an Irken ship, and you're probably about to die. Sucks to be you."

"He said that?"

"More or less." Strangely, Dib seems more amused by this than anything, and he has a little smile on his face as he continues to recount the tale. "Of course, once the P36's crew heard that, it was amazing how calm everyone managed to be. It's like...okay, we're going to die, and we can't do anything about it without endangering the rest of the human race, but at least we _did_ something with our lives, you know? And then, of all things..." He laughs and shakes his head, as though still in total disbelief over what had happened.

Stephen pipes up then, tone mockingly cheery, "Now seems like the perfect time for a commercial break, I think – build up a little drama, get the viewers pumped for what you'll tell us next."

"I think that would just annoy them."

"Probably," Stephen agrees. "All right, I'll let you go on _this_ time. But next time I say 'commercial break', I'd better see some good and wholesome Terran commercial breaks going on, and _fast_."

"Yes, sir," Dib concedes with a chuckle.

"So, of all things...?"

"My sister, Gaz; apparently, she figured that if she was going to die, she might as well go out doing something enjoyable. In her case, drinking soda and eating some pizza." Though he rolls his eyes a little bit, the starship captain has a very slight hint of fondness in his expression.

The Ultra-President doesn't appear to be very sure of what to make of this, and makes this clear with his next words. "That's great and all, but, uh...it's not like they could have known about that..."

A sly grin spreading, Dib shakes a finger towards Stephen, playfully condescending. "Ah, ah! Don't assume things; I said that _we_ were only allowed an audio connection, I never said anything about _them_."

"Well, if you never said it, that doesn't mean I'm wrong."

"Of course not. So anyway, while we're sitting in the P36, having the Ripper's captain bombard us with questions, and just waiting for them to up and shoot us already, _their_ crew is watching us over the vid screen. And, of course, they happen to spot this girl enjoying a very greasy and unhealthy-looking slice of _something_ they've never seen before. As soon as they all spot it, the bridge just goes _dead silent_; they've never had these sorts of things happen before." Looking almost smug, Dib leans back in his chair. "I can name five things that threw them off. Not only did we manage to get into their territory without their prior knowledge, but when confronted, we managed to show almost _no_ fear in the face of death, and one of our number even managed to go so far as to start snacking as though nothing was happening. And, more importantly, the food of choice was something that _they_ hadn't invented yet."

Stephen quirks a brow. "Uh, pretty sure I only heard four things there, Captain. Unless four is the new five."

"I was _getting_ to the fifth thing," Dib sighs, though he doesn't look particularly annoyed; pleased, rather. It's clear that he's enjoying telling the tale. "The last thing – the deciding factor, really – was that we didn't ask anything of them."

"Aside from, 'please don't kill us'?"

"Haha! No, we didn't even ask _that _of them. I told you – Irkens are like kids. They don't like to be bothered with mundane things like truces and meetings and rules; they like having fun, and doing what they want, so trying to control them or insisting they do anything different just pisses them off." Dib shrugs a bit, as though the answer has been that simple all along.

"Sounds like they're a little spoiled, then."

"A little, yeah. But they're not evil, not like everyone's been saying all this time. You just...have to know how to see things from their perspective."

"And what's that? 'Give me stuff and I won't hurt you'?"

Dib shakes his head, a little apologetic smile spreading. "Not quite. It's more like...'Give me some of your stuff and I'll be okay with sharing some of my stuff.' And that doesn't really extend just to trade goods – that's including living space. We all know how territorial Irkens usually are, but now that we're allied, they don't seem to mind our ships going through their sectors, and we'll probably see a few Irken crafts out here near Earth every now and then, too. The Ripper vessel's captain, Skoodge, has actually been reassigned to visit our planet for a while to test the local cuisine. I'll be showing him and a couple of his crew members around." He looks proud of this, even though it's a far cry from exploring the depths of outer space.

"Sounds like a blast; dragging alien man-children around to every fast food joint they see," Stephen replies in an enthusiastic tone that somehow manages to seem very unenthusiastic. "I'm sure Irkens will adore the American way, and their impending obesity will just prove it."

"Actually, I'm pretty sure junk food is healthy to them," Dib states matter-of-factly, getting a look of utter disbelief from the host.

After a moment of silence passes, Colbert just shrugs it off (metaphorically, that is, seeing as he has no shoulders) and sighs, "Must be nice; imagine being able to eat a whole fried cow and still not gain an ounce of weight."

"A fried...cow." Dib, apparently, is unsure of how to respond to this.

"Yes," Stephen confirms without elaborating any further. He then extends one spindly mechanical hand, which the other man shakes. "Okay, so! It was great having you here on the Colbert Report tonight, Captain Dib; you should stop by with your new Irken buddies when they get here, you know, see how your babysitting works out."

"Ha... Yeah, maybe. I'll see if they'd be up for it," the captain chuckles. "Well, thanks for having me, Mr. Ultra-President, it's been fun, and I'm glad I got to share the story with everyone..."

**END RECORDING**

...**  
**

Correspondence from Irken Tallest Red to Earth

G.T. 29837 – 4 – 9.2 - 162°20'17"

To the dignitaries of Earth or whatever, but mostly just that Dib guy:

The snacks that Skoodge has sent to us from Earth are pretty good, so I guess we'll keep this alliance thing going. It's not all that bad. Purple agrees, so...yeah. (Just, uh, keep sending the snacks.)

By the way, we have some old ships we don't need anymore. We were just going to toss them in a black hole, or blow them up or something, but if you want them, you can have them. I don't really care.

Regards,

Almighty Tallest Red

Oh, right; Dib, we have a little security drone that we're placing in your care, or your crew, whatever's more convenient for you. Me and Purple are just kind of tired of him. Thanks.

...

Correspondence to Irken Tallest Red from Capt. Dib Membrane

G.T. 29837 – 4 – 9.3 - 034°57'41"

Almighty Tallest Red;

I'm glad you and Purple are enjoying the snacks so far (there is currently another shipment on its way to you), and equally glad that you have decided to maintain our alliance; again, if you have any concerns regarding human conduct in our races' relations, feel free to inform me or any other dignitary so we can help to correct the issue.

We would be more than happy to take your unneeded ships off your hands, however, we can give back little in the way of technology. Although, Skoodge and his crew expressed some interest in possibly sending popcorn poppers and other such snack-preparation machinery to Irk, so perhaps we could offer those to you in exchange. (I think you would enjoy having a cotton candy machine.)

In regards to the security drone's placement, the P36 already has adequate guards, but I would not be averse to taking him into my care. If you would provide some of his information and a general description, as well as a time and place, I will pick him up.

Sincerely,

Captain Dib Membrane

...

Correspondence to Irken Tallest Red from Capt. Dib Membrane

G.T. 29837 – 4 – 9.3 – 070°18'49"

Almighty Tallest Red;

Please disregard the third section of my last correspondence, as you seem to have launched the mentioned security drone directly into my backyard on Earth.

He didn't particularly enjoy the swimming pool.

Sincerely,

Captain Dib Membrane

...

**THE NEW PORK TIMES**

**BREAKING NEWS!**

HAS THE BIG D FINALLY FLIPPED?

As we all know, esteemed captain of the P36.e-H1LL Dib Membrane has taken into his home and custody a small Irken security drone, but what you may not know is that this unassuming little drone has a knack for causing _big_ trouble. Even amongst his own kind, he has caused over 4 _trillion_ monies worth of property damage, not even counting all the medical bills his unintended victims have racked up, and he has become known as 'the destroyer of all he touches'.

It brings us to wonder if Mr. Membrane knew just what he was getting into when he accepted the tiny Irken into his home, and especially onto Earth itself; if this 'Zim' character has caused so much damage on Irk, surely a more sturdy planet than our own, why, just imagine the havoc he could raise!

And indeed, he has already wreaked havoc in only his second week planetside. Just this morning, in what was meant to be a routine procedure at NASAPlace, little Zim decided for apparently no reason whatsoever that he would commandeer a space-worthy vessel and pilot it directly into the newest lunar shopping complex, which had been built in and around the crater Copernicus. It is predicted that its destruction will cause some major upset in the stock market; however, derisive comments from Ultra-President Stephen Colbert (Ver. 28) aside, the consequences of such aren't entirely clear just yet. Either way, that is an approximate _$6 billion_ in property damage in Zim's second week alone!

We managed to get into contact with the Irken, though as of right now, despite his being thoroughly fluent in English, the only comprehensible comment he has managed to offer so far is 'Whoops'.

Some of us here at The New Pork Times have started to wonder if maybe, just maybe, Almighty Tallests Red and Purple had this strange little drone sent to Earth in an attempt to weaken us for later invasion. So far, however, Dib has refused to confront the Irken leaders on the matter, though he did allow us to ask him a few questions, some of which he was still reluctant to answer. The most important question, of course, is whether or not Zim – who happens to be a former Invader – being placed on Earth is a sign that we have been slated for future conquest. Captain Membrane's response was not altogether uplifting.

It was, and I quote: 'God, I hope not.'

Same here, Dib. ...Same here.

* * *

And then Dib sends a little text message to Red that's all like 'lol, r u trying 2 take over earth', and then Red's all like 'lol, y wuld we do that, ur silly', and then ten years later, the Irkens totally take over Earth. xD;

Note: Stemming from the Greek 'Galaxias', 'Via Lactea' is the Latin name from which the English 'Milky Way' was translated.

MOAR NOTE: Credit for the time format used throughout the prompt goes to ckret2, writer of the awesome fic 'In Short Supply'. (Go check out her stuff. NOW. You won't regret it.)


	96. Police

Had some fun with this one. It's mostly Zim, with some mentioned Dib (read: somewhat obsessively mentioned Dib).

Warnings: Mentioned death, GIR being insane (but you should probably expect stuff like that)

* * *

**POLICE**

Sharp blue uniforms and shiny badges, weapons strapped to the hips; the only things that set the strangers apart from other humans in Zim's mind. Uniforms were enough to denote importance – badges doubly so – and weapons...well, that was another ballpark entirely. Unfortunately, the two men who approached him were still human, and so they only registered in the Invader's mind when they blocked his path on the way to class.

He was immediately on the defensive; law enforcement, no matter how inferior, was something he'd learned to be wary of. "Zim hasn't done anything!" he bit out irritably, trying to edge past them, only to have them trail alongside him as he walked.

"We weren't going to suggest that you did," the taller of the two, not old but still with graying hair, informed him. "We just have a couple of questions."

How inconvenient – _Zim _had much better things to do! For instance, sitting in class and ignoring the rambles of his teacher as he plotted Earth's downfall. Regardless, he stopped walking, shrugging and giving a bored grumble that might have been something like compliant. If only to avoid suspicion, he would humor them and their questions – granted, he wasn't going to guarantee any truthful answers.

The shorter man, heavyset with a thick mustache, asked with the suspicion that Zim was trying to avoid, "Why would you think you're in trouble?"

"Is that one of your two questions?" Zim responded immediately, squinting up at him.

"When I said 'a couple of questions', I didn't mean exactly two," the first man clarified, sounding a bit bemused. "His question still stands, though – are you expecting to be in trouble?"

"I don't _know_," Zim retorted, all scowls; if they'd been anything other than human, he would have been lying. "The only law enforcement agent I've ever had to talk to had a squid brain in his head!" Never mind _why_, of course.

Neither of the two really knew quite how to respond to that, the shorter one scratching at his head as the other pulled out a small photo, managing to hide his continuing confusion as he held it out, asking, "Do you know who this is?"

The photograph was barely spared a glance, before Zim replied dully, "Carl McDoogen. Miss Bitters' class, row three, third seat. Left his underwear on for a month once – the smell was unbearable."

"I, uh- ...Thank you?" Uncertainly, the taller man glanced at the photo himself, then back to Zim as he pocketed the picture. "Not sure if I needed to hear that last part, but, uh...anyway. Were you well-acquainted with Carl?"

"Ugh! Absolutely _not_," the Irken shuddered, sticking his tongue out in distaste.

"You don't try to get to know your classmates?"

The resulting flat look was an answer in and of itself, but it was still accompanied by, "They share a class with Zim, and that's more than enough."

"I see." The two humans shared a quick glance, the shorter and fatter one scribbling something down onto a notebook he'd procured moments earlier. As he wrote, his colleague spoke up again. "When was the last time you saw Carl?"

Zim squinted slightly, flicking back into his PAK's memory files. Then, finding what he was looking for, he recited blandly, "Two days ago, after lunch – one thirty to two in the afternoon." After a brief silence, in which he received inquiring looks from the two annoyances in uniform, he clarified, "Physical education on the tennis courts. He was my opponent, along with the _Dib_." That one name held more enthusiasm than anything else he'd told them so far, and they seemed to pick up on it eagerly.

"Tough match?" the chubby one questioned casually.

"Ehn." A shrug. "The Dib usually presents a worthwhile challenge for Zim."

"What about Carl?"

The disguised alien blinked, as though just remembering that he'd been approached about _that_ classmate and not his nemesis, then drawled offhandedly, "I'm sure his performance was miserable." The inquiring looks came again, and, a scowl on his face, he huffed, "I wasn't paying attention to _him_ – and why should I, when there was a worthier opponent on the battlefield?"

"Tennis court."

"Same thing." Zim shrugged and kept on scowling; there really wasn't much of a difference to him. Battles, whether of endurance, skill, coordination, and so on, and regardless of where they took place, were still battles. "Now, of what interest is Zim's tennis battle to you?"

"That depends," the fat one replied. "Did you win?"

"Tied," the Irken responded swiftly, looking smug. "I'd never played the sport before, so the _Dib_ thought it would be an easy victory. HA! Easy victory, against _me_? The incredible _Zim_?" He scoffed, stating without words that one should perish the thought.

His answer seemed to deflate the mustached man, and so his partner took over. "If you wouldn't mind, could you tell us your exact opinion of Carl?"

A pleased expression settled on Zim's face – why ever would he mind voicing his opinions? His opinions were _great_! "He is stupid, smelly, and annoying, just like everyone _else_ in this skool. He'll probably end up as a hobo." He paused for a moment to consider something, then added with an air of certainty, "An especially smelly one."

"Unfortunately, that's not going to be possible in Carl's case," the tall man informed him, a little put off at the odd green child's negativity. "The upper half of his torso was found in a ditch last night."

"Oh." That was it. Just 'oh'. Not even a hint of concern or dismay. Zim blinked, squinted, feeling as though he was missing something important. Then, he figured out whatever it was, and – rather than feigning the emotion humanly appropriate to the situation, which was the _actual_ important something – he asked bluntly, "What happened to the lower half?"

"We're still trying to figure that out."

Another unconcerned 'oh', and Zim's already meager interest in the whole ordeal was officially lost. "Well, good luck with that, I guess."

Confused glances were exchanged between the two men. "Uh...thanks?" The tall one scratched his head in much the same baffled manner as his partner had done earlier.

"I've got to get to class," Zim went on to inform them, unenthusiastic at the notion, but still considering the discussion over – or at least not worth spending any more of his time on.

"Hold it - what were you up to the night before yesterday? Say, at around seven?" The mustached man was looking and sounding desperate now, as though he'd had a gut feeling and now that gut feeling was turning out to be horribly wrong but he didn't _want_ it to be wrong, because then the gut feeling might actually just be indigestion or something more serious that probably had everything to do with his honestly rather impressive girth.

Frowning and narrowing his eyes in mild annoyance, the Irken flicked back into his memory files once again before grumbling, "I was at the _Dib's_ house. He was attempting to hack into my computer, so I went over to-" A slight pause, Zim recognizing just in time that it probably wouldn't be wise to let slip his actual intentions in paying his enemy a visit. "-kick him. In the shin." He'd done that, after all. "He'll have a bruise for a week," he informed them with a self-satisfied smirk.

"Err...well, what about yesterday?"

Screwing up his face in aggravation, now seeming to have to try _very hard_ to keep from snapping at the current source of his ire, Zim grated out, "I was at _skool_, and then I was _going_ to go home when the stinking _Dib-pig_ chased me up a tree with a bucket of _ice-water_." Glaring up at the man sourly, he added on, as huffy as could be, "I was stuck there for four hours. _Four hours_, with that stupid giggling _poop-meat_ mocking me – mocking _ZIM_! Ask him yourself – he'll _laugh_ about it, that horrible _worm_!"

And then the mustached man's theory – whatever it had been – fell to pieces, his partner patting him on the shoulder as he slumped dejectedly. If it all checked out, the alibi was flawless. "All right then," he conceded. "I think we're done here."

"Good," Zim stated flatly, grumpy disposition not fading in the least.

"Thank you for your cooperation, and if you hear anything that might help us in our investigation, just call this number." A small card was proffered, and the Irken shoved it into a hidden pocket without even looking at it.

"Uh-huh," he responded in the exact same tone as before; truly, he was a shining example of not giving a crap. "Can I go to class now?" He barely gave them the time needed to nod, stalking off and grumbling irritably to himself, hands shoved in his pockets. It brought him to remember the card (he'd already forgotten about it), and it was summarily snatched, crushed, and then chucked into the nearest waste receptacle. And, when he just barely caught a snippet of conversation between the two men as they left, Zim was glad for it.

_'It just doesn't make sense – from the markings, it seems like his bottom half was __chewed__ off...'_

_'But by __what__?'_

Two minutes later, Zim was standing in a stall in the boy's bathroom, body trembling with anger and a communicator clenched tight in his claws. "_GIR_, have you been eating things you shouldn't again?"

"Aww, but I _needed_ his legs, Master, I needed 'em _good_!"

"NO! _Bad_ robot! Legs are _not_ for eating!"

"But how _else_ am I s'posed to tap the Tapioca?"

* * *

'Tap tap, tap tap, tap the Tapioca - everybody FREEZE!'

Okay, well, according to GIR, apparently you're required to eat legs in order to tap the Tapioca. (If you get the reference, by the way, then congratulations - you win a gold star! ...But not a platinum one - that one's mine.)

Random note: I hate that, once again, for some reason I am not allowed to type question marks and exclamation points directly next to each other for emphasis, as the site's editor insists that I can only use one or the other. If anyone knows how to fix this minor annoyance, I would love you forever. :\


End file.
